


soul & serendipity

by moffnat



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ableism, Affairs, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Class Issues, Depression, Drama & Romance, Emotional Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Interracial Relationship, Love at First Sight, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Misogyny, Murder, Original Child Characters, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Politics, Racism, Religious Guilt, Schizophrenia, Sexual Content, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Trust Issues, buckle up it's time to ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28749045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffnat/pseuds/moffnat
Summary: ❝Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. It is an ever-fixed mark that looks upon tempests and is never shaken. ❞— William Shakespeare,Sonnet 116∰Lady Marianne is engaged to Prime Minister von Aegir by her father's will, and she resigns herself to a lonely life with a man she doesn’t know. Enter Duke Blaiddyd, a tortured soul who has also sworn off romance despite the longing in his heart. Two starved dreamers fall into a forbidden love at first sight. Meanwhile, King Khalid and Queen Edelgard try to maneuver their arranged marriage and the boundaries of trust, and Prime Minister von Aegir hides an opera-singing secret of his own.Updates every other Tuesday.Illustrated byVilltura.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault, Marianne von Edmund & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 116
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THINGS TO NOTE BEFORE READING:**   
> 
> 
> * It's finally here! This project has been in the works since August of 2020, and I'm so excited to be able to present it to you. Listed below is a bit of information you may need before starting.  
> 
> * The main ships are as follows: Dimimari at the center, Edelclaude as the secondary and Ferdithea as the third. Mercidue and Hildannette are supporting ships. There will be other ships and characters brought in along the way.  
> 
> *  **Please mind the tags.** This may be a Victorian AU, but it's more _Jane Eyre_ than _Pride & Prejudice_, if you get me.  
> 
> *  **Disclaimer:** This fic deals heavily with mental illness, specifically major depression and the schizophrenia spectrum. As a mentally ill person and a professional in the field, I will be applying my personal experiences with things I have learned and seen in my job to write Marianne and Dimitri as accurately as I can. Writing these illnesses for these characters is based off of my interpretations of them and is not meant to "diagnose" them. My intent is to give these two characters the happiness they deserve while refusing to shy away from what these illnesses can look like; doing so would be a disservice to them, and to those of us who are mentally ill as well.  
> 
> * I made some adjustments to fit the setting. Edelgard, Khalid, Dorothea and Ferdinand are 26, Dimitri is 25, and Marianne is 21. Also, I shrank Fódlan. It's now about the size of Britain, with the three nations becoming three provinces inside a single united kingdom (heh). Finally, Dimitri and Edelgard were raised together as siblings, though they are still step-siblings.  
> 
> * This fic will update **every other Tuesday** at around 9AM PST.  
> 
> * Every chapter features an illustration by my lovely art wife, [Villtura](https://twitter.com/villtura). She has worked so hard on this passion project with me. It wouldn't have happened without her. Please check out her Twitter and give her a follow! (You can also find [me](https://twitter.com/moffnat) on Twitter. And we have a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3j3mkSBFG1iRZPrTZseEZC?si=Bym5ZeU7RhKS9agM3719YQ), too. We might be a bit obsessed.)  
> 
> * Without further ado, here is the first chapter of Soul & Serendipity. Kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated. We hope you enjoy our fic novel. ♥  
> 
> 
>   
>  **soundtrack choice:**   
>  [[la valse de l'amour; patrick doyle](https://youtu.be/xAJIMBqlGWo)]   
> 

****

** HARPSTRING MOON  
** **MARIANNE**

She yearned for the water. The rush of waves, the fatal pull of the current. The King's River was an ever-present temptation for Marianne. How easy it would be to leap from the highest bridge in Derdriu, falling past horse-drawn carriages and wealthy wanderers to break into the unknown. She dreamed of it often when her father was particularly strict, or the restrictions of society and sex denied her the promise of joy. She had been so close, once. Water had filled her lungs, making her gasp and claw at her pale throat, flailing downstream toward the sea until—

“Marianne!” shouted a voice. She startled awake as a rolled newspaper smacked her atop the head. Sitting in the nook of a bay window, Marianne clutched the book she’d been reading as her father glared down at her though his monocle, newspaper in hand. “What’s gotten into you, girl? Pay attention when I speak.”

“Sorry,” Marianne offered with a weak frown. “I’m not feeling well.”

Margrave Edmund scoffed in reply. Stepping away, he dropped his newspaper on the table by the hearth and opened the face of the great grandfather clock. It joined the conversation with a _tick, tick, tick._ “Straighten yourself, Marianne. There’s a ball at the palace tonight and we’re expected. I’ll have you on your best behavior.”

Marianne said nothing and turned back to the window. The glass was cool against her forehead, rain dripping down the surface on the outside. Below, the gardens of Margrave Edmund’s estate glistened in the late spring showers. Exotic blooms were drenched in water. Drowning. Oh, to be one of them.

With difficulty, her father wound the clock until it was tight again, and slammed the glass door shut. He sat in the open spot by Marianne’s feet and refused to look at her. “Are you still feeling sour over your engagement?”

“Sour?” asked Marianne.

“You’ve been pouting since our return from Enbarr. Ferdinand von Aegir is a perfect match, you know.” The Margrave plucked a stray thread from her ruffled skirts and dropped it on the floor for the maid. “He is a strong, able-bodied man with a good spirit and wealth in his pockets. You will want for nothing.”

Wanting for nothing did not mean she would be happy. Marianne stood from her cushioned seat, exhausted in her father’s company. Margrave Edmund did not care for matters of the heart. Emotions were mere trivialities to him; he valued results and good investments above all. Perhaps that was why he’d adopted her to begin with. “I, um... I just need time to adjust, that’s all. I know there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“Nothing indeed,” her father agreed, a scowl in his tone. “The betrothal ceremony yesterday sealed your fate, Marianne. It’s high time you accept it.” He rose and placed his hand on Marianne’s arm. The gesture was meant to be comforting, but it did not soothe her. “This is what the Goddess wants for you, my dear. Take care not to spoil her gift.”

It was impossible to tell what the Goddess wanted anymore. So much pain in Marianne’s twenty-one years of life, and for what? To live forever chained and defined by a man? Though illogical to some, Marianne’s piety was her weakness, and her faith was all she had. She bowed her head and left the room before her father could summon her back.

Less than a day had passed since Marianne’s sanctioned betrothal to the newly appointed Prime Minister of Fódlan. She and her father had made the long journey to the province of Adrestia in the south, to the cathedral in Enbarr, so she might link hands with Ferdinand von Aegir and pledge her sacred vow: _I will be his, and he will be mine. I shall belong to no other._ The presiding priest had praised the match. “You are two devout souls with love for the Goddess,” he’d said. “May Sothis bless your happy union.” But Marianne regretted her practiced words the moment they’d passed her lips. Ferdinand was not an unkind man, she’d heard it said, but neither was he her choice. She did not love him. She barely knew him.

Opening the door to her bedroom, Marianne entered and stood still, numbness settling in her heart. Sunlight glowed upon the floor through sheer white curtains. Her four poster bed seemed more like a cage. Minutes ticked by before she placed her poetry book atop her nightstand and slipped beneath the covers, passing into dreams.

There were three benefits to marrying Ferdinand von Aegir. First, as Prime Minister, he would often be absent and unable to bother Marianne with his unwanted presence, granting her the loneliness that would be her comfort. Second, though Marianne would be forced to have his children, as soon as she bore a son, she would no longer have to suffer his nightly visits. And third, perhaps most importantly of all, Marianne would be able to escape her father’s obsessive control. At least the Goddess was merciful in that regard.

Troubled even in sleep, Marianne yearned not to wake, to be rid of the world and its destiny for her. But as the evening began, her bedroom door flew open and eager hands shook her from slumber.

Marianne gasped, shooting upright. “I’m sorry!” she cried on instinct. “I’m sorry, I only fell asleep! I—”

It wasn’t her father who disturbed her. Hilda, her closest friend and ally, chuckled as she sat by Marianne’s feet. Her candy-colored eyes twinkled in the light of the dipping sun. “It’s just me, sleepyhead,” she said with a cheery smile. “It’s time to wake up! I’m here to get you ready for the ball.”

Marianne clutched her pounding heart in relief. “Hilda, you scared me.”

“I had to. We all know you sleep like the dead.” Without missing a beat, Hilda stood and yanked the blankets from Marianne’s petite frame. “I don’t know how you took a nap in your corset, but I’m glad you did. Less work for us. Get up, Marianne, I brought you a dress!”

Anyone who was anyone knew that Hilda Goneril was the finest dressmaker in Fódlan. Birthed into the wealthiest family in the nobility, Hilda was allowed freedoms and luxuries that no ordinary noble could achieve. She had withdrawn from the search for a husband in favor of devoting her life to crafting gowns and fine jewelry, making such a name for herself that all the women in the kingdom either owed her a debt or wished they could. Goneril shops had a home in every major city, from Enbarr by the sea all the way to Fhirdiad in the frigid north, and her position was so unique that not a soul could reprimand her. If it wasn’t for Hilda’s resounding presence among high society, her marriage to her mistress would’ve been scathingly scorned.

Hilda was a force. She was confident, strong and unimpeded by the world around her. She was everything Marianne could never be.

Marianne reluctantly rose from bed. Her sky blue hair had fallen from its style in her sleep, leaving a mess of curls spilling down her back. She checked her clock at the mantle. Nearly five. The ball at the palace would begin in less than two hours, but Marianne was not the slightest bit excited to attend, her energy having somehow lessened after her three-hour nap.

“Hi, Marianne!” chimed a newcomer. Annette rushed into the room, her red hair bouncing with her, carrying a wide box in her arms. Every time Marianne saw Annette, she was surprised by how short she was; barely five foot one, in fact, and Hilda adored it. She came to her wife and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I brought the dress Hilda made for you. You’ll look so beautiful in it, I promise.”

Marianne tried to smile. “Thank you, Annie. But I’m not sure I want to go.”

“What?” exclaimed Hilda, hands on her hips. “I didn’t bring our dresses all the way here to get ready without you.”

“But...” Marianne wrung her hands, her eyes trained to the floor, to the patterns on her rug. “I’m not sure I’d enjoy it. I don’t like to dance, and I can’t look for a husband anymore. I don’t belong there.”

“Oh, stop. Listen to me.” Hilda came to Marianne, placing her hands on either side of her dear friend’s arm, a prelude to one of her infamous pep talks. “Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean you’re married yet. Use this time to be yourself, Marianne. Grow confident. We’ll be right beside you, alright? You can’t go wrong with us around.”

“I don’t know,” said Marianne, forever unsure. “I’m not sure my confidence matters. All I want is a quiet life where I won't be a bother to anyone.”

Hilda shook her head, her pink hair waving like a curtain over her shoulders. “That’s not good enough. Think about happiness! Dance and have fun, okay? I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“You really think I can still have a good time?”

“Of course! Find some cute guys to dance with, eat some yummy food and forget all about your marriage. It’s still a whole year away.” Hilda shrugged, returning her hands to her side. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll break your sacred betrothal and fall in love with someone else. Everybody loves a scandal, right?”

Marianne sighed. “I don’t think so. But thank you, Hilda. Maybe the ball won’t be so terrible.”

“Not if you’re with us,” giggled Annette. “We’ll make it fun if it’s the last thing we do.”

Annette directed Marianne to her vanity and brushed out her hair while Hilda fetched the makeup. Their topics of conversation varied from the intricacies of marriage to politics and the queen’s latest fashion. Marianne never knew why Hilda and Annette bothered with a dull soul like her — their valuable cheer was worth far better company — but they were always ready to help with anything and everything. It made her burdens easier to bear.

With learned skill, Annette darkened Marianne’s lips and lashes and pinned her hair back with elegant jeweled barrettes. When she was done, Hilda took Marianne’s hands and stood her up, stripping her down to her corset and petticoat. “Ready for a gorgeous dress made by yours truly?”

“I suppose,” said Marianne with a little grin. “I hope it isn’t too outlandish. I don’t want to stand out.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll stand out in the sweetest possible way.” Hilda turned to the boxed gown atop Marianne’s bed and lifted the lid, pulling her creation from thin paper wrappings.

The dress was simple, cut low at the shoulders with puffed sleeves and a flattering neckline. Butterflies in a variety of colors flew free along the pale fabric, their wings patterned, not a single one the same. In Hilda’s free hand, she offered a pair of earrings fashioned in the shape of gold cocoons.

“Hilda,” murmured Marianne. She traced the wings of a blue butterfly at the gown’s waist, smiling. “It’s beautiful. I don’t deserve something this nice.”

“I’ve made you too many dresses for you to start complaining now,” said Hilda. She kissed Marianne on the cheek. “It’s a gift. You’ll be the most charming person in the ballroom, Marianne. That’s a guarantee.”

Annette and Hilda helped Marianne step into the butterfly gown. Once the laces at the back were tied and secured, Marianne looked at herself in the floor-length mirror and did not recognize who she saw. Grey-brown eyes were framed with black lashes, her small mouth painted pink and her cheeks dabbed in a rosy blush. The gown hugged the thinness of her frame and accentuated her breasts, which couldn’t be helped, and around her neck, the treasured golden locket from her past rested above her sternum. 

Beauty came naturally to Marianne, or so people said. She never believed them. But sometimes, on rare occasions such as this, she felt that she might be acceptable after all.

“Thank you, Hilda,” said Marianne with a smile, her earrings dangling with the turn of her head. “And Annie. Thank you both so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Annette replied. “Now it’s time to get Hilda ready. Her dress is _sooo_ heavy. I’ll do her hair and makeup, but will you help me with her gown?”

Marianne nodded. Annette and Hilda went to the vanity and began flirtatiously fussing over styles and color choices. Marianne, having been too forlorn to write in her journal earlier in the day, pulled the leather-bound book from her desk and unwound the straps. Taking her fountain pen in hand, she lit the candle beside her as the sun began to set, and wrote her daily entry.

> _Dearest Diary,_
> 
> _It is done. I am betrothed, and I am miserable._
> 
> _I shouldn’t complain. I know it's selfish of me. I’m the daughter of a powerful nobleman. I have food to eat and a roof over my head, and friends who help lift my spirits. I’m educated and accomplished. But still, my soul feels empty._
> 
> _Maybe it’s too weak of me, or maybe I’m still a child on the inside, but what I want most under all the sadness is to be loved as I am. I know it’s impossible. I’m too untidy. Melancholy is always around the corner, waiting for me. I’m barely acceptable at the pianoforte and my art is nothing special. My embroidery could be done better by a frog. And yet, a part of me still dreams of being held in the night by someone who loves me, flaws and all._
> 
> _I’m terrified to give my body to a stranger. I've been having nightmares and I wake in tears. Ferdinand may be kind and gentle, but the fear is still there, even though our wedding is a year away. Between now and our marriage, he will be traveling on diplomatic missions. I’ll only get to speak to him a handful of times before I’m expected to lay with him and have his children. Too much is expected of me! Worthless me._
> 
> _I don’t know Ferdinand. I don’t trust him. Am I the only woman who has ever been so afraid before marriage, I wonder? Did Queen Edelgard feel this way when she married King Khalid? If only you could speak, diary, and answer my questions about life and fate. I would feel better with a kindred spirit to speak to._
> 
> _Hilda is dragging me to the Saint Macuil Day ball. I will write again tomorrow. For now, I leave you with a poem._
> 
> _The center of my chest lies at the bottom of the river  
> _ _In a graveyard of fish eggs and stones  
> _ _Unnoticed  
> _ _It would slip through a fool’s fingers  
> _ _And sink_
> 
> _The center of my chest is cold as the current  
> _ _Fickle life flees with the water  
> _ _Unbending  
> _ _It would freeze in a fool’s hand  
> _ _And break_
> 
> _I am forgotten  
> _ _Take me downstream where the river meets the sea_  
>  _Estuary, sanctuary  
> _ _So the center of my chest might know freedom  
> _ _And drown_

“Are you coming, Marianne?” asked a chipper Annette as she slid the last pin into Hilda’s hair. “This dress is too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

Marianne forced a smile. She closed her diary and went to her friends, leaving her secret wish for the river behind.

** FERDINAND **

City walls glittered in the setting sun. A remnant of an empire long conquered, Enbarr was a proud place, rich in the arts and theatre and political drama, the pride of the province of Adrestia. It was Ferdinand’s home, and had been all his life. It would remain his home until the following spring, when Derdriu called him to a new purpose.

Ferdinand closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the wind. Enbarr was old and unpleasant at times, but the air near the markets always smelled of baked sweets and heavy Dagdan perfumes, incense from Brigid and Almyra, scents that Ferdinand had adored since childhood. Even at dusk, the vendors were swarmed with nobles eager to exchange their coin for exotic goods. Lace parasols twirled to shade maidens from the sun and horse-drawn carts pulled evening shoppers to their destinations. Enbarr’s organized chaos was familiar to Ferdinand. He felt that it always would be. 

“Sir?” asked a little voice to Ferdinand's left. A small boy no older than seven looked up at him, his blue eyes glistening behind a shock of dirty hair. He tugged at Ferdinand’s sleeve. His own were tattered and worn. “I’m hungry.”

The child may as well have tugged at his heart. Ferdinand crouched beside him, the leather of his boots creaking as he moved. An orphan, no doubt. Starving and poor, like so many others. “You are hungry? I believe I can help with that.” From his pocket, Ferdinand retrieved a few silver coins, all he had on his person, and placed them in the boy’s tiny hand. “Make sure to share this with your friends. This should buy enough bread and apples for the week.”

The boy looked so aghast that Ferdinand feared his eyes would pop out. “Um...”

“Please, do not worry. It is no trouble.” Ferdinand rose to his feet with a smile. In the boy’s quivering gaze, he saw every pauper his father had scorned, every prejudice and problem in Fódlan that needed fixing. “I hope the time comes soon when you do not have to beg anymore.”

The child nodded and dashed away. Ferdinand watched him go, his mind wandering to _her_ , Dorothea, to her stories of being raised in Enbarr’s gutters and drains. The chime of the church bells called him back to the present. He crossed the cobbled streets fast in hopes that no one would recognize him.

The cathedral's pearlescent spire reached toward the distant heavens. Ferdinand tried not to think of what it represented, turning left down the opposite road, away. Marriage, looming and impending, was now a certainty. Marianne von Edmund was as beautiful as she was shy. He could love her, he supposed, if circumstances were different. He had honored his late father by accepting the offer of her hand from Margrave Edmund. “A good match,” his father had rasped on his deathbed six months past, clinging to life as the cancer choked it from him. “This is a good match, my boy. Do it for me.”

Ever the nobleman, Ferdinand had accepted. Marriage in Fódlan wasn’t about happiness, but benefits and dowries and family lines. Ferdinand had a duty as a duke’s son. He took his status as the last member of House Aegir very seriously. And yet...

Ferdinand stopped before the grandiose apartments in the upper market town, where wealthy commoners rented homes of opulence and lived like kings. The building was crowned in sculpted marble and the grey flags of the kingdom draped down either side. He pushed out a sigh and ran his fingers through his mid-length curls, their ginger color matching the hue of the clouds. He would need to find a new excuse for coming here. No Prime Minister would visit a senator three nights in the same week, or given a tour four times the week prior. But Ferdinand could not keep away. It was the one thing his noble pride could not deny him.

He entered the building without a second thought. He climbed the stairs in haste, his romantic heart, though heavy, getting the better of him.

Ferdinand knocked at her door. Her, his crutch, the forefront of his mind. He didn’t hear her sweet voice respond, but something slammed atop a table within. Dorothea wasn’t pleased. Ferdinand’s smile fell, and he found the crystal handle of her door unlocked when he turned it and stepped inside.

Dorothea was a vision in her black silk robe, basking in the sun bleeding in from her gilded window. Long brown hair cascaded down her back and her almond-shaped eyes were calculating when she looked at him. Green and piercing, her gaze did not betray how she felt.

Ferdinand closed the door behind him. “Dorothea.” 

“Don’t.” Her tone was cold as she crossed her arms over her chest. Tension poisoned the air between them. “If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to get out.”

“Dorothea, please. I—”

“Are you betrothed, Ferdie?” 

Ferdinand let out a steady exhale. He did not deny her accusations. He couldn’t.

Dorothea stormed to Ferdinand and slapped him hard across the face. Ferdinand reeled from the blow, holding his burning cheek in his hand.

“Please, Dorothea, listen! My father arranged the engagement before he died. Everything, Marianne’s dowry and position, had already been settled before he took his last breath.” Ferdinand reached for her, his eyes pleading, holding her arms tight in his hands as though she would slip through them. “You know how much I loved my father.”

“Enough to cast me aside?” she asked. Dorothea’s voice grew sadder by the second, her anger fizzling out like a spark. Tears moistened her eyes. “I hate you.”

“I do not think so.”

“I _do,_ ” Dorothea insisted, squirming, but Ferdinand kept his grip until she settled. “I used to, anyway. And now that I love you, I can’t even have you.”

Ferdinand lowered his head. His heart ached from the truth of her words. Betrothals were sacred and binding in the sight of the Goddess. Nothing, not even love for another, was viable grounds to break one.

“This engagement changes nothing for me,” said Ferdinand. “I am sorry I never told you. I have wronged you so deeply.”

She turned away. Dorothea moved to sit on the edge of her bed, toying with the ends of her luscious hair. How many times had Ferdinand buried his face there, breathing in her perfumed shampoo as she sang softly in the night? Would he do so again?

“I thought you were my ticket out of this life,” she said at last. “The opera used to be a safehaven for me, a way to get off the streets. But now it’s prison. I can’t stand the looks those lecherous nobles give me, like I’m some trophy to be won. I’m not a trophy, Ferdie. I’m more than that.”

“I know,” said Ferdinand with a frown. “I know.”

He came to her bed, one they’d shared in secret for a year, and sat beside her. Dorothea leaned on his broad shoulder. Ferdinand wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head, rubbing her back in comforting circles. If he ignored all else, he could pretend the future was uncertain.

“I’m no one’s mistress, either.”

“Would you really be so quick to leave,” asked Ferdinand, “even if I marry? I have loved you for so long. It certainly would not be easy for me to leave you.”

Dorothea hummed her discontent. “I wanted to be your wife, Ferdie. But it’s too late now. You’re too pious for a mistress.”

“I would have you,” Ferdinand insisted. He pulled away to look her in the eye, lifting her chin with the tip of his finger. “It would not be the most dignified life, nor would it be noble. But I am willing to do the un-noble when it comes to you. I can give you a home and care for you, for any children we might have.”

“It would haunt your conscience. I’m not an idiot.” Dorothea’s smile was filled with sorrow. “Every time you looked at the Edmund girl, you’d regret me. I wouldn’t shame her that way either.”

Ferdinand's rebuttal dissolved before he could speak it. Dorothea, as ever, was right. She knew him better than anyone. His earnest intentions, no matter how genuine, would never match her knowledge of how the world worked.

Dorothea rose from the bed, standing before Ferdinand, untying the cravat from his throat and tossing it to the floor. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Dorothea—”

“Shut up.”

Ferdinand watched as she took a step back, tugging the silk tie around her robe until it fell to the floor in a rush. Her naked body was perfect. Pale as snow and dotted with moles, her skin was flawless to him, with heavy breasts and hips that swayed like a pendulum when she moved. Dorothea braced herself on Ferdinand’s shoulders and straddled his lap in full, filling him with fire. He gripped her waist and pulled her flush against him. Mistress or no, Ferdinand would never be free of her.

“Just kiss me, Ferdie,” she told him, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Kiss me while you still can.”

** EDELGARD **

Wrathful was the heart of Queen Edelgard. She sat at her regal vanity in her chambers, head in her hands, the flicker of a single candle casting shadows along the walls. She did not hear voices or hallucinate like her brother, but if she did, she imagined they would manifest as Archbishop Rhea, her wicked eyes scrutinizing Edelgard’s every move. 

Saint Macuil Day was intended to celebrate an ancient hero. Macuil was once a tactician in a brutal war, prized for his prowess in logic, hailed as the father of mathematical study. But Rhea’s speech in his honor had consisted only of duty and lessons in religious obedience. It enraged Edelgard. How could a woman so supposedly righteous be so deaf to the teachings of her faith? Every holiday, every sermon, every appearance of Rhea meant ridiculous rhetoric followed.

It would be easier to sit and stew in her anger, if confrontation and absolution were not El’s primary goals. Instead, she’d told the Archbishop directly that her sermon was vile, and dozens of nobles had overheard. Gossip spread like fire. Edelgard was already disliked by the court and the church, and she figured it wouldn’t be long before Khalid was approached by Rhea and asked to set her aside. El doubted he would hesitate.

A knock came at her door. Edelgard sighed, looking up to the mirror at her vanity, frowning at the exhaustion in her lilac stare. “Come in,” she said. “Be quick.”

The door opened and closed. It was no maid she saw in the mirror’s reflection, but Khalid, her husband, wearing his favorite smirk.

“Still upset?” asked Khalid, coming to her side. He was already dressed for the ball in a royal overcoat decorated with ropes and medals, signifying his position as king. A small box rested in his hands. “Don’t worry about Rhea so much, Edelgard. She’s just a nun in a fancy hat.”

“A nun who has all of Fódlan in the palm of her hand,” El said. “She hates everything I stand for.”

“Most rich people do, you know. It can’t be helped for someone with a forward-thinking mind like yours.” Khalid shrugged. “If you ask me, you’re ahead of your time.”

El furrowed her brow. She turned to him, studying his face, the sea green of his twinkling eyes. They had argued with such ferocity only days before, and now he appeared endeared by her. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” chuckled Khalid. “Come on. You should know by now that I’m _always_ up to something.” He placed the box atop her vanity and removed the lid. Within was a decorative ruby comb in the shape of a rose, crowned in diamonds, set in gold. “I thought this would look good with your dress tonight,” he said. “It’s a Goneril piece. I had Hilda make it just for you.”

Edelgard blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time Khalid had given her a gift. On her birthday, perhaps, or the anniversary of their arranged marriage over two years past. She traced her delicate fingers along the comb’s teeth. “Are you trying to woo me, Khalid?”

“Nah,” he said. “I wanted to congratulate you on sticking up to Rhea. I've always wanted to tell her that her sermons belong in a sewer.”

They grinned together. El looked up at Khalid and admired her husband’s features. Though he was the son of the former Queen of Fódlan, Khalid’s appearance was pure Almyran, his dark skin and hair reflective of his father’s homeland. He had a prominent nose with gold earrings dangling from his ears, and his trimmed beard lined his jaw down to the tip of his chin. He was handsome. Incredibly so.

Khalid lifted his hand. He reached for Edelgard’s shoulder, to touch her, and for once El might have been receptive to such affection, but he pulled away before she could consent. The moment was gone. “The ball starts soon,” he said. “We should get downstairs before people start showing up. Do you want me to send a maid to help with your hair?”

“No,” said Edelgard, facing the mirror again. She reached back and gathered her snow-white hair atop her head, turning her chin side to side, envisioning a style. “I’ve been fixing my hair alone since my mother died. I don’t need help.” 

Khalid hesitated, then moved toward the door without a word. Much to her surprise, a part of Edelgard wished he wouldn’t go, dreading the loneliness of her thoughts.

“Wait,” she called. El stood from her seat at the vanity, her crimson gown swishing about her legs. “Khalid.”

He looked to her, his hand hovering over the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for the comb.” She motioned to the box atop her vanity, folding her hands in front of her. “Maybe, if you behave yourself, I’ll visit you tonight.”

Khalid’s trademark smirk returned. “No promises there, Your Queenliness.”

He left the room and closed the door behind him. Edelgard sat before the vanity once more with her pins and her new comb, unsure of what style would look best.

She stared at herself in the mirror. She sat motionless for a long time, so long that her thoughts began to circle back where they’d started, a thousand battles waging in her mind. 

** DIMITRI **

If his sister were not the Queen of Fódlan, Dimitri wouldn’t have attended the ball. Excessive social gatherings made him irrevocably nervous, feeling as though every eye in the palace’s Golden Hall was fixed on him, probing him for information he did not have, accusing him of crimes long past. He had learned to manage his paranoia over time. He could sort reality from delusion, most days. Still, familiar fear clung to the back of his throat, its claws trailing up to the base of his skull, where it latched.

Looking at him, no one would see the turmoil. Dimitri was ever the handsome and mysterious Duke Blaiddyd, though he never believed himself as such. Standing tall at six foot three, he was a menace towering over the ballroom’s guests, his muscular frame attesting to long hours training with Dedue, his skills with lance and spear finely honed. A black and silver overcoat complimented his desire not to stand out. Straight blonde hair reached down to Dimitri’s broad shoulders, tied back for the formal occasion, and an eyepatch, necessary to preserve his self-image, covered his mangled embarrassment of a right eye.

Standing alone with a glass of champagne, Dimitri waited to catch a glimpse of Edelgard. The sooner he spoke with her and made his presence known, the sooner he could leave and lie that he’d stayed through the night.

“I guess they call this the Golden Hall for a reason,” said Sylvain, coming up beside him. “Didn’t think it would be so literal.”

Dimitri nodded. He wasn’t in the mood for Sylvain’s antics, which were sure to follow his friend’s arrival, but he was grateful for familiar company. “It was built for King Byleth,” said Dimitri. His blue eye travelled the length of the forged gold walls, painted ceilings and dangling crystal chandeliers flickering from candles made of beeswax. “To celebrate the first monarch of Fódlan after the unification, I believe.”

Sylvain scoffed. “Come on, Dimitri. You’re really giving a history lesson at a ball?” He slung his strong arm over Dimitri’s shoulders, glass in-hand, motioning to the people in the room. “Think of all the beautiful women you could be dancing with right now. I’ll introduce you to some. What do you like? Blonde? Brunette? Ginger, like me?”

“You never change,” groaned Dimitri. He threw back his head and chugged the rest of his champagne before setting the glass on a nearby server’s tray. “I just want to see El so I can go back to Faerghus where I belong. This isn’t the place for me, Sylvain.”

Sylvain, ever the socialite, rolled his eyes at Dimitri’s resistance. “You have to dance with at least one girl tonight, okay? Promise me. You can even use my pen to write on her card.” From his coat, Sylvain retrieved a fountain pen and tucked it inside Dimitri’s breast pocket.

“Sylvain, I—”

“Just do it, Dimitri. You deserve a cute girl to make your night exciting! I know there’s a lion in you somewhere.”

Dimitri simply shook his head.

Not long into a conversation with Sylvain about different breeds of horses, Dimitri caught the glint of candlelight off a diamond crown. Edelgard stood by an open window with a view of the northern sea, chatting amiably with a nameless courtier. Dimitri left Sylvain without a word — he would understand — and crossed the floor, through dancers spinning to an orchestral tune, to El.

“Dima!” El called when he approached. She smiled, as did he, and brother and sister embraced. If there was ever a constant in Dimitri’s tumultuous life, it was El. He felt safer just hearing her voice. “I’m glad you came. You’re too lonely in the north.”

“I am far better up there than I would be here,” he countered. “How could I govern Faerghus from Derdriu, El?”

“I believe you would find a way.”

El and Dimitri separated, though their hands remained held as they studied each other. El looked healthy, fierce and disciplined as ever with impeccable posture and a look of incomparable regality. Though she was shorter than anyone Dimitri knew, she was his older sister, and power bled from every move she made. She was inspiring. Intimidating to some, but not him.

“Have you been enjoying the ball?” asked El, taking a glass of wine offered by a servant, whom she thanked.

Dimitri declined a glass, knowing his limits. “Not really.”

“You’ve always held disdain for them.”

“I’m enjoying it about as much as you enjoyed the Archbishop’s sermon today, or so I heard.”

A huff passed the queen’s lips. She took a rather unladylike sip of wine and kept her expression neutral despite her ire. “Rhea is nothing more than a tyrant,” El spat quietly, so only Dimitri could hear. “She holds the hearts of so many desperate people, yet she fills those hearts with nonsense about obedience and piety when what they need is assistance. But nobles are no better. They fester in wealth they did not earn and loom over the people like vultures, claiming to know better than the common man.”

Dimitri couldn’t help but grin. El had always been spirited, the embodiment of determination, even when they were little. She'd once convinced him that she could change the weather if she screamed loud enough.

“But what do I know?” asked El, finishing her wine and taking another glass from the server. “I am only a woman with _opinions._ ”

“You are a queen,” Dimitri corrected. “And a very good one, at that.”

“Thank you, Dima. If only more in Fódlan thought the same.”

Dimitri did not have a chance to guide the conversation elsewhere before Sylvain sauntered over, holding an entire bottle of rum. El stiffened as he approached. “Your Majesty,” said Sylvain, bowing low.

“Sylvain.”

The redhead laughed at her dismissive tone. “Still hate me from childhood, do you?”

“Of all my brother’s friends, you are my least favorite.” Even so, she offered her hand so Sylvain could kiss her knuckles, as was customary. “Have you run out of women to bother?”

“Nope,” said Sylvain. “I’m actually here to bother a man this time. Well, Dimitri? What do you say to our deal?”

Dimitri’s blood ran cold. He saw the smirk on his friend’s face and balled his fists. “Don’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party. Come on, humor us.”

“Humor us how?” asked El.

Sylvain rubbed his chin, the sparkle in his brown eyes refusing to die. “I told Dimitri that I want him to dance with at least one girl tonight. I thought that maybe, as his queen and lovely big sister, you might want to pick one out for him.”

Dimitri pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose, embarrassment coiling around his chest. “Please don’t, El,” he begged. “I’ll find someone on my own if I must.”

“I know you,” chuckled El. “You’ll say you danced with someone and then fail to name her, because you lied. I’ll gladly pick for you. Besides, it might add some joy to your night.” She raised her brow and linked her arm with his. Dimitri yearned to sink into the floor. “Now. Who is the lucky girl?”

Dimitri, anxious and annoyed, remained quiet while El and Sylvain debated over who would be unfortunate enough to suffer his company. Lady Monica was too conniving, Miss Ordelia was betrothed to Count Gloucester and the Pinelli girl would sooner stomp on Dimitri’s feet than accept a dance with him. El, so tiny, tried to stand on her toes to see above the heads of those in front of her. “Do you want me to find you a ladder?” teased Dimitri.

El glared. “I _will_ have you flogged.”

While he waited, Dimitri plucked a few hors d'oeuvres from passing servers, strips of bacon wrapped around cream cheese and Almyran peppers, spiced fish cakes and deviled eggs sprinkled with salt. Not that he could taste them, though. He had to stop himself from accidentally eating fake fruit. After what felt like hours, Dimitri was close to bidding Edelgard farewell and putting an end to her useless search, until El smiled, pointing to the other side of the ballroom. “Her.”

Dimitri followed El’s finger. The girl was fair from a distance, her pale blue hair a surprising color he’d never seen before. Her gown was patterned with butterflies. She stood alone, hugging herself, leaning against the golden wall as if in shame.

“Why her?” asked Dimitri.

El sipped her third glass of wine. “She looks as miserable as you do.”

“Remember the pen,” advised Sylvain with a wink. “Get on that dance card, Dimitri. Her Majesty and I will be watching from over here.”

“ _You_ will be,” said El. “It entertains me that you think I’d spend a single moment alone with you.” She promptly walked away, returning to her throne beside King Khalid, where she belonged. She motioned to the blue-haired girl as if to say, _“well, Dima, get to it.”_

Dimitri pushed out a long sigh. “I hate you, Sylvain.”

“You can thank me later.”

Sylvain patted Dimitri on the back before leaving him. Under the watchful eye of his sister and Sylvain, who would surely inform the rest of their friends, Dimitri couldn’t retreat. The only way out was forward.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have declined the wine after all.

Straightening his coat, Dimitri weaved through the throngs of guests, which was quite difficult for a man of his size. Some nobles eagerly leapt from his path as if he were a leper among the healthy. Dimitri didn’t need to look at them to see their spiteful stares, their wary, sometimes fearful expressions. He’d memorized them one at a time over the years. No matter who wore them, those faces never changed.

“He’s a madman,” someone whispered. Dimitri continued on.

The closer he came to the girl with blue hair, the more he noticed her beauty, until Dimitri was struck still and froze to the spot. Her body language spoke of dread and the way she wrung her hands suggested an inner battle, which Dimitri sympathized with. The slope of her jaw complimented her cheekbones and her shoulders were decorated with dozens of little freckles. His heart began to race. What was an angel like her doing here, tucked away at the back of the ball like a wilted flower in a bouquet?

Dimitri swallowed. His throat was dry. Hesitantly, and only because he knew he was being watched, he came forward until he stood at the girl’s left side.

She blinked up at him. Her eyes, her eyes, so beautiful in the candlelight, grey-brown but warm and filled with hesitation. He wondered what his one good eye looked like. Would she see his uncertainty? His boyish lack of knowledge in the world of women?

“Hello,” he said stupidly. Dimitri expected her to walk away. The girl did not, and instead, she curtsied as any polite lady of the nobility would. “You, uh... you look lonely.”

“My friends are getting champagne,” she replied, her voice high and soft. “I don’t really belong here.”

“Neither do I,” said Dimitri. “I’ve always detested things like this. If it weren’t for my sister's invitation, I wouldn’t be here at all. I suppose that’s a downside to being family to someone so important.”

The girl cocked her head to the side, a curious dove. The realization dawned on her. She gasped, her hand over her mouth. “Oh! You’re Duke Blaiddyd. The queen’s brother.”

“There’s no need for titles,” he assured.

She curtsied lower than before, as if ashamed of having done it wrong the first time. The edges of her butterfly-patterned gown spread along the marble floor. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I should’ve been more polite.”

“Nonsense,” said Dimitri with a frown. “Please, forget the formalities. I much prefer being called Dimitri. I’m no one special.”

She straightened her back. Delicate fingers curled a strand of hair behind her ear, and she looked at him like he was a test, a problem that needed solving. Not in an ill-mannered way. It was a look of endearment. “Dimitri.”

His name sounded sweet in her voice. The temperature in the room seemed to rise, and Dimitri rubbed the side of his neck, looking away.

“Um... what are you doing here, Dimitri?”

“Oh. Right.” Dimitri cleared his throat. He’d faced true evil before, horrors not even El could understand. Asking someone to dance shouldn’t be so mortifying. “I believe the waltz is next in the lineup. If, uh, you were so inclined to share a dance?”

Her cheeks flushed a rosy shade of pink. “Oh. Um...”

“You can say no,” Dimitri clarified. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that.” She seemed conflicted, staring off into the crowd of dancers twirling to the beat of the galop. “I’m not very good at it. But, um, I think I would like to. Dance with you, I mean.”

“You would?” asked Dimitri, his brow raised in giddy glee. Goddess, what a fool. “I mean — certainly, yes. Do you have a dance card?”

The girl held out her left arm. Around her pale wrist was a silk strap, and the card dangled from it. Dimitri pulled the silk over her hand. His fingertips traced her skin, and he damned himself for noticing the smoothness of her.

From his pocket, Dimitri retrieved the pen Sylvain had given him and removed the cap with his teeth. He held the card with one hand and signed it with the other. The girl, much to his surprise, giggled softly. “I’ve never seen someone hold a pen cap with their teeth before.”

Dimitri removed the cap from his mouth. “It wasn’t very polite of me,” he admitted, offering the card back to her. “Apologies.”

“No, it’s okay. It was amusing.” She returned her card to her wrist. “Oh, um... my name is Marianne. Marianne von Edmund.”

Smiles suited her. It was impossible not to reciprocate. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Edmund. I look forward to our dance.”

Dimitri bowed to her. Not because it was required of him, but because Marianne deserved his respect. He turned away and walked toward the other side of the room. His heart, for the first time in his life, grew wings.

The waltz could not come soon enough. Dimitri found himself pacing in what little space he could find, digging in his mind for the things men said to women when dancing. The topic of the weather seemed too obvious, too boring. Her dress was splendid — should he talk about that? He could recite the history of the Golden Hall or his hometown of Fhirdiad. Yes, that would do. Or maybe she would like to lead the conversation?

The maestro, after an eternity, announced the waltz. Dimitri gathered his courage and stepped out onto the center floor, where he awaited the mystical Miss Edmund.

She came from behind. Marianne stepped around Dimitri and stood before him, looking up with her earthen eyes. “Hello again.”

“Hello,” said Dimitri upon exhale, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “How long has it been since I met you? Hours? Days?”

She chuckled. “Ten minutes, I think.”

The maestro tapped his baton atop his music stand to signal the waltz's start. Dimitri closed the distance between himself and Marianne, his fingers curling over her hand as it held his. She was much shorter than he anticipated, the top of her head barely reaching his collarbone. Her neck muscles would ache if she looked up at him for long.

Marianne’s breath quivered as Dimitri’s other hand slid around to the small of her back. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes.” She nodded, her cheeks turning red. “I’m well, thank you.”

The music began. Dimitri fell into step with Marianne, who was surprisingly graceful despite her admission of clumsiness. They swayed among the other nobles, counts and lords and duchesses alike, but Dimitri paid them no mind. Marianne was enchanting. She’d captured his full focus.

“You lied to me,” he told her.

“I did?”

“You said you’re a poor dancer.”

“Mm," she hummed. "I’m not the best.”

“I disagree. You’re a wonderful partner, Miss Edmund.”

Her blush deepened. “Thank you.” Marianne’s hand moved up his arm, halting at his shoulder. “It would be easier if you weren’t so tall.”

Dimitri stifled a laugh. “If it meant you would be more comfortable, I would gladly shorten myself.”

“You’re too accommodating for someone you don’t really know.”

“Then help me get to know you.” Ah, perhaps that was too forward. Dimitri shook his head. “Only if you’d like to, that is. I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel obliged to share.”

“No, um... it’s alright.” Marianne’s shy nature was, for lack of a better word, adorable. But there was a maturity in the way she held herself, uncommon in the noblewomen he’d met before. “I’m fond of horses. Are you?”

“Very much,” said Dimitri with a wide smile. He lifted his hand to twirl her mid-step, and Marianne gasped, spinning before he took her in his arms again. “My mare’s name is Lissa. Most men take stallions, but I prefer mares. They’re tamer, in general. Easier to handle. And I like how affectionate she is. Even on her bad days, Lissa seems to enjoy my company.”

“She sounds beautiful,” Marianne replied. “My horse is a stallion. His name is Dorte. He’s one of my dearest friends in the world.”

“Is he?”

“Yes. He’s always there for me, and he listens to my problems without judgment.” She shrugged her freckled shoulders. “People have always told me that I do well with animals.”

“I’m sure they’re right,” said Dimitri. “You have the temperament for it. Your demeanor, it’s... gentle.”

She chuckled. “So is yours. It’s no wonder you like horses, too.” When Dimitri spun her again, Marianne was ready, and she twirled with all the poise of a woman in her prime.

“I, um... I also enjoy poetry,” said Marianne.

Dimitri grinned. Another thing they had in common. “I have several poetry books at my home in Faerghus. They’re among my favorites, too.”

“Really? That’s lovely. I bet you have a wonderful library.”

“Not as wonderful as it could be,” said Dimitri. His mouth twitched in a smirk. “No matter. I enjoy it without rhyme or reason.”

Marianne blinked. “Was that a joke?”

“A horrible one,” he confirmed, “but I promise my poetry is verse.”

It was a risk, exposing his terrible sense of humor in hopes that Marianne might approve. But like birdsong, her laughter trilled forth and flitted through the air between them, light and soft. She was capable of no less. Dimitri found himself laughing with her. “You’re a strange man,” she said.

The waltz slowed and ended on a grand crescendo. Guests applauded the skills of the orchestra and its conductor, but Dimitri looked only into Marianne’s eyes, and she into his. Their hands remained linked and their bodies, close. Dimitri felt that Marianne was searching for something. Her ache for completeness shone in her gaze, and he saw his own need reflected there, sourced from all he’d suffered.

“Thank you for the dance,” said Dimitri. “Though I admit, I’m... hesitant to part.”

Marianne bit her lower lip. Her eyes never left his. “We could dance again, if you’d like.”

“I would, Miss Edmund. I would like that very much.”

Dimitri made himself a promise as he swayed once more with Marianne. He vowed to know her. To open himself. It would not be easy, particularly if the past was prologue, but the stir in his soul was her doing. He hoped to exhilarate her in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[NAT:](https://twitter.com/moffnat)** HUGE thanks to the FE3HAUBang mods for putting this together. We're so fucking hyped. *banging pots and pans together* LET'S GO FE3H NATION. see you in two weeks!  
>  **[VILL:](https://twitter.com/villtura)** Nat and I are super super excited to finally share this project with everyone! It’s been such a delight to work on, and I’m hyped to be able to show the art I’ve created based on Nat’s lovely writing. There’s a lot of amazing content to come in this story! :)


	2. opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard makes a plan. Marianne attends the opera. Dimitri reunites with a familiar face.
> 
> **soundtrack choice:**  
>  [[harbor; eric owyoung](https://youtu.be/Y9LxjdzLZGI)]  
> 

****

** EDELGARD **

El woke the following day as she always did after visiting her husband in the night; alone, in her chambers, staring blankly at the canopy. Sex was nothing. Its true meanings and pleasures had been stolen years ago by greedy hands whose very existence had scorned her. She took no release whenever she joined with Khalid, denying herself the right to feel, to enjoy, to moan. Still, every once in a while, the physical aches of her body needed tending and Khalid’s lips were the only appropriate cure.

To say that Edelgard didn’t enjoy Khalid’s company would be half a lie. He was insufferable at times, a schemer at heart where El would rather live by firm action. Khalid would never make a political move unless there was a benefit for him. El, on the other hand, would sacrifice her personal reputation if it meant ensuring the good of the commonfolk. And she did. Often. But despite their stark differences and arguments over how things should be done, Khalid had never raised a hand to her, never ostracized or punished her for speaking her mind. Not that he could, of course. El would strangle him in his sleep if he dared.

Complicated. That, she supposed, was the perfect word to describe her feelings for her husband. El rolled over on her side, burying deeper under thick blankets, eager to return to sleep before the maids came to bother her.

She was not so lucky. Less than an hour into the morning, a set of knuckles rapped upon the queen’s door. “Your Majesty?” asked a young woman from the hall. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to wake you, but I have a message.”

El sighed. She rose from the warmth of her bed and slipped her feet into a pair of fur slippers. From her bedside table, she retrieved a set of keys on a brass ring. Two padlocks, a chain and a deadbolt kept El’s door secure, protecting her from the world as she slept. Not because it was required. She simply could not sleep otherwise.

Once the locks were undone, Edelgard opened the door. A young maid curtsied low. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning, Fleche.” El offered a nod in greeting. She’d made an effort to know every servant in the palace by name. She was mostly successful, though some positions had a high turnover and the faces were always changing. Fleche, she remembered, was the little sister to a city guardsman, and she admired El dearly. “You said there was a message for me?”

“Yes,” said Fleche. “The king wanted me to ask if you would take breakfast with him in his bedroom this morning. He said there’s no need to get dressed.”

Breakfast? With Khalid? El was shocked, but not unpleasantly so. Khalid knew how she needed her space after rare nights of mimed intimacy. What had changed? Or rather, why was she feeling _open_ to the idea?

“Very well,” said Edelgard. “Tell him I will be there in a moment. Thank you, Fleche.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Fleche rushed toward the end of the hall and around the corner to deliver her news. El retreated to her room, closing the door behind her.

Khalid wanted a discussion. That much was clear. They hadn’t interacted much at the ball the night before, having been busy engaging with the nobility, suffering their lectures and gloats. Was there something urgent she needed to know? Edelgard pinned back her hair in a low bun and pulled a crimson robe around her nightgown for modesty, tying it about her waist, and snatched a box of precautionary tea from the table to bring along. Just in case.

El did not meet anyone else as she walked down the great hall leading to her husband’s room. She came to the double doors, which she found ajar, and entered without knocking.

The chambers of the king were regal. Gold moulding crowned the walls and a wrought-iron chandelier hung from the high ceiling. Paintings crafted by the master Ignatz Victor, a friend of Khalid's, were hung about the room, scenes of Almyran landscapes and half-naked men and women in tasteful poses. Tapestries from Khalid’s father’s homeland draped over the canopy of the bed — a bed she and Khalid had been tangled in the night before. Old philosophy books littered the marble floor, and by the archway leading to the balcony was a great saddle for his wyvern. Wherever Khalid’s pet beast had flown off to, El didn’t know, nor did she want to. The thought made her shudder.

“I’m outside,” called Khalid from the balcony.

Edelgard crossed the threshold into the morning light. Khalid sat at a glass table with his foot propped up on one of the legs, wearing a gold silk robe, and _only_ the robe. With his knee bent, his entire upper thigh was exposed. He smirked when he saw her.

El huffed. “You have no modesty.”

“It’s a private balcony.”

Edelgard sat in the chair opposite Khalid. The table was covered in a freshly served breakfast, warm toast and berry-flavored jams, cooked ostrich eggs seasoned with Dagdan spices, chopped pineapple and watermelon and a bowl of fried potato wedges. A pitcher of yellow juice sat beside a pot of boiled water for tea. El poured herself a glass.

“Good morning to you too,” said Khalid.

Edelgard sighed. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

“It took a while, but I managed.” Khalid sipped from a cup of wine, casting his eyes to the rose garden beyond. “The bed’s always colder when it’s just me.”

“You should be used to it by now.”

Khalid shrugged. His carefree demeanor was always lazy in the morning, and his pose was that of a man fully relaxed. A soft breeze tousled his dark curls. “Before you go and get suspicious," he said, "I just wanted to see if you had a good time at the ball last night. I know you hate those things. They’re not my favorite either.”

Edelgard raised her brow. She took a bag of her personal tea from the box she’d brought and dropped it in her glass of steaming water, stirring in the little silk parcel with a spoon. “That surprises me. You’ve always loved parties.”

“I do. But a Fódlan ball isn’t a party.” He dragged his fingers through his hair and eyed her tea with interest, but did not comment. “A party is a feast under the sunset on a sandy beach, or a feast around a great bonfire. Or a feast in a big dining hall with lots of ale and music.”

“A feast,” said El. “That’s all you require?”

“You can’t tell me feasts aren’t fun.”

“Not any feast I’ve been to,” she replied, “but you tend to have a new way of doing things. You should host one of these feasts sometime.”

“I plan to, when my uncle Nader comes to visit this winter. Then you can really get a good taste of a traditional Almyran feast, Edelgard. I think you’d like it more than some stuffy ball.”

She sipped her tea. “I didn’t think you hated them as much as I do.”

“You’d be surprised how much we have in common.”

El considered asking him to elaborate. The look in his eyes made her crave an answer all the more, but she would not give him that satisfaction. Khalid was tricky. He had a way of making people say too much with too little, and there were parts of her that he could never be allowed to witness.

They ate in silence for a time. The awkward neutrality was familiar for Edelgard. Too many times had husband and wife shared meals without saying a word or speaking very little, about the weather or new fashion or some other such nonsense. Political debate led to arguments. It was better, in the end, to say nothing substantial if relative peace was to be sustained between them.

“I saw your brother dancing with Margrave Edmund’s daughter,” said Khalid after his breakfast was done. 

Edelgard dipped a knife into a jar of jam and spread it on toast. “Oh? Is that who she is?”

“Marianne von Edmund, yeah. She’s Hilda’s friend.”

“Many people are Hilda’s friend.”

“One of her closer friends,” Khalid clarified. “I’ve never seen Dimitri laugh like that. Have you?”

In her mind, Edelgard returned to the memory. She’d watched Dimitri waltz with the blue-haired girl six times in total. They’d spoken at length through each dance, engaging one another like old companions. Friends. “He used to laugh when we were children,” El said with a frown, “but you may be right. It has been some time since I’ve seen him so animated. If it’s true, and he is interested in this girl romantically, that would be most unfortunate.”

Khalid leaned forward, his elbows atop the table, regarding her with a close eye. “And why's that?”

“I believe Marianne von Edmund is the name of the woman Ferdinand was just betrothed to.”

“Yeah, I thought as much.” Khalid stroked his beard, and a moment passed without reply. “Guess we’ve got a tradition to break, huh?”

Edelgard nearly choked on her tea. “Pardon?”

“Come on, you know you're tempted.” Khalid stretched his arms over his head like a stray cat. “If we can manage to get on Rhea’s good side, I might be able to bring up annulling betrothals with her.”

“ _Me?_ Befriend _her?_ ” Edelgard scoffed. “Absolutely not. Tolerate, perhaps, and barely so, but I will never call that creature a friend. You insult me.”

“I’m not telling you to be friends,” defended Khalid. “Goddess knows I can’t stand her either. But I know you’d do anything for Dimitri.”

El didn’t like the path of his thoughts. Grimly, she nodded.

“Just be a little less confrontational with Rhea. Don’t, you know, tell her that she’s a stain to Fódlan and all that. It's about diplomacy. As the Archbishop, she’s the only one who has the power to mess with the betrothal law. She needs to trust us if we want to ask for favors.”

“And then Dimitri will be able to freely pursue this Edmund girl,” said Edelgard, tapping her chin. “I suppose it could work.” She took a sip of tea, then paused, narrowing her eyes in suspicion at the king across the table. His manipulative ways were not unknown to her. “What do you gain from helping me with this? If you think assisting my brother will put me in some position to owe you a debt, reconsider, Khalid. Or is this about forcing me into submission to Rhea to help your public image?”

Khalid’s eager gaze fell flat. He shook his head in disbelief. “Amazing. Who said I gained anything?”

“You told me yesterday that you’re always up to something.”

“I am,” said Khalid, his posture straightened, his stare colder than before. “Believe it or not, I care about Dimitri and want to see him happy, too. I’ve kept your secret for this long. Not everything has to be a battle, Edelgard.”

She worked her jaw. “It wouldn’t be a battle if you were honest.”

“I was honest with you just now.”

“Yet it wasn’t the whole truth.” El, full of spite, chugged her secret tea like it was healthier than water and slammed the glass on the table. “I am not convinced by your act of supposed good will.”

Khalid rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “Fine. I don’t want to fight. Don’t you ever do anything else?”

El stood, her small body a vessel for all the rage of ten women combined, and just as much grace. “I am perfectly cordial with those I trust. You, Khalid, have never been one of them.”

Leaving her tea and her husband behind, she exited his chambers with contained fury. Ulterior motives or no, Edelgard did not bend to the will of any man, nor would she ever.

If she were to break Marianne and Ferdinand’s engagement, she would do so alone.

** MARIANNE **

Three days had passed since the Saint Macuil ball. They were the longest days of Marianne’s life.

A shameful amount of focus had been given to the memory of dancing with Dimitri. Never before had Marianne come alight in such a way, her spirit curious and wishful to know another’s. The sound of Dimitri's laughter had nestled deep in her heart, where it lingered. His smile was so handsome. Mirth had shone bright in his blue eye as he’d told his silly jokes, but there was a longing within him too, a sadness that no fellow sufferer could miss. Marianne felt as though their souls were familiar with each other. Somehow, some way.

Her journal entries since the ball had consisted only of thoughts of Dimitri. She wondered how he fared, how expansive his library really was, if she would ever see him again. She wanted to. Tucking her betrothal at the back of her mind, Marianne had replaced her despair over her nuptial fate with joy for the new person in her life. If nothing else, perhaps Dimitri would like to be her friend. She could be happy with that.

“You’re spacey today,” commented Hilda one afternoon, walking beside Marianne along the cobbled streets of Derdriu. The two of them had decided to venture into the city to see what antiquities Hilda could repurpose into jewelry. They remained side by side, both armed with lace parasols to block the sun from their fair skin. “Like, _really_ spacey. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know, Hilda. I don’t think it'll do any good.” Marianne toyed with the gold locket around her neck. A nervous habit, but it couldn’t be helped. “I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him this much. Is it normal?”

“Very,” said Hilda. “When I met Annette, I didn’t think about anything else for months! I couldn’t act like myself again until we confessed. You know, the mushy stuff.” Hilda stopped walking to peer into the storefront window of a clockmaker, admiring a silver pocketwatch. “Do you know when you’ll see him again?”

Marianne shook her head. “Not him, no. But, um...” She bit her lower lip. “Queen Edelgard invited me to see an opera in Enbarr at the end of this moon.”

“ _Oooh!_ ” Hilda squealed, so loud that other pedestrians turned to make sure she was safe. She clutched Marianne’s arm. “The queen is Duke Blaiddyd’s sister!”

“I know,” said Marianne. “I was surprised that she knew who I was. I’m not that important.”

“Well, you charmed her little brother, so it makes sense that she found out.” Hilda shrugged. “Do you think she’ll invite Dimitri too? Oh, that’d be so exciting! A date at the opera for my sweet Marianne.” Hilda cupped Marianne’s cheek with her free hand. “Think about it. You, Duchess Blaiddyd of the Province of Faerghus.”

Marianne’s face burned red. She moved away from Hilda, and the two of them walked on, carriage riders and afternoon shoppers paying them no mind. “I don’t think that’s why Her Majesty asked me to go,” said Marianne. “She, um, invited Ferdinand too.”

“Who cares? Maybe she just wants to get to know you better. She’s gotta make sure you’re perfect for Dimitri.” Hilda twirled her parasol, the pearls around her neck shimmering in the sun. “I do the same thing with Holst all the time. Only the best potential brides for _my_ brother.”

Marianne sighed. She couldn’t imagine that the queen had any interest in her brother’s love life, or her, for that matter. The Prime Minister and Queen Edelgard were old friends. Inviting Marianne was just a courtesy.

“I kinda envy you, you know,” said Hilda. “Your life’s gotten so exciting.”

Marianne slowed to a stop. Frowning, her gaze fell to the stone beneath her heeled boots, where she'd unknowingly crushed an ant. “Exciting?” she muttered. “It’s awful, Hilda. If I had met Dimitri a month ago, things might have been different. I might not be betrothed to someone else. Now, I'll never get to have that chance with him.”

“Marianne,” Hilda murmured, all her cheer sucked away.

“Do you know what my father told me when he passed along the queen’s invitation? ‘Don’t spoil this opportunity, Marianne. Win her favor and prove yourself.’”

Hilda scoffed. “Your father’s a bad man, you know that? He’s too controlling and possessive. It’s weird.” She came forward, placing a delicate hand on Marianne’s shoulder in solidarity. A spiced summer breeze rolled through the air between them, carrying scents from the bakery just north. “Don’t listen to him. This is an opportunity to find out more about the duke, not your dad’s dumb politics. The opera is really fun! Try to focus on that.”

Marianne forced a smile, if only for Hilda’s sake. “I'll try. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hilda. I wish I could have your confidence.”

“You’re a strong person, Marianne,” said Hilda with a warm laugh. “I’ll keep reminding you until you see it too.”

They beamed at one another. Linking arms, the lifelong friends continued down the market streets toward a destination unplanned.

∰

Queen Edelgard departed for Enbarr separately. Marianne endured the day’s ride south by her lonesome, burying herself in an adventure novel, adjusting how she sat in the carriage to occasionally undignified positions. Every hour or two, the drivers would stop to stretch their legs and tend the horse, and Marianne would step out into vast wheat fields bending in the wind, letting the tips tickle her palms. 

Fódlan was a relatively small country. It could be traveled along the main roads in less than four days with diligent effort, but each part held a uniqueness that Marianne admired, reflective of the three separate nations they’d once been. Even the landscape was different. The Leicester province was lush and green, a seaside oasis moderate in temperature, while Adrestia was a heat-ridden peninsula with palm trees, colorful flowers and peculiar fruits. Faerghus in the north was opposite them both, a wintry wonderland of mountains and deep forestry. Faerghus: Dimitri’s home. Marianne hoped to see it someday.

The city of Enbarr, however, horrified her. Towering architecture of artistic prowess bordered the streets, complimenting wealthy citizens and casting street orphans in shadows. Dirty little faces peered up from abandoned alleyways, covered in filth, eternally ignored. Marianne watched from the window of her hotel suite as three noblemen kicked a begging child into the mud. She nearly threw open the shutters and demanded the police to intervene, but she second-guessed herself and the moment passed, leaving her with regret.

An hour before the opera was to begin, Marianne rushed across the street and filled the child’s pockets with as much of her father’s money as he could hold. She prayed it would be enough.

“Miss Edmund?” asked the hotel doorman in the late evening, approaching where Marianne sat waiting for her chaperone in the lobby. “Your gentleman is here. The Prime Minister, my lady.”

Her gentleman. Marianne swallowed the lump in her throat. She was not fond of Enbarr, and the prospect of venturing with a stranger was even less appealing, regardless of Queen Edelgard's presence. She wrung her hands. “Thank you,” she told the doorman, and rose from the velvet chaise she’d been perched on, her light yellow gown draping to the floor. She forced herself into pleasantness. It would not do to scorn her husband-to-be.

Marianne exited the hotel and came to the side of the Prime Minister's coach, where her fiancé was waiting. Ferdinand von Aegir was prim and proper in a regal suit of beige with gold trim, his auburn curls tied back with a ribbon in a low ponytail. A top hat that appeared brand new rested upon his head, and he offered a gloved hand to her, his lips forming a smile. “Good evening, Miss Edmund.”

“Hello, Duke Aegir.” Marianne took his hand and curtsied, and he kissed her knuckles in greeting. The touch made her hollow. It was not Ferdinand's citrus-toned eyes that she wished to see, but a single blue one behind a shock of blond hair. “I’m sorry to intrude on your time with the queen. I know you're friends.”

“Nonsense,” said Ferdinand, opening the door to the carriage for her. “It was an honor to invite you. Please.”

Marianne kept his hand and entered the carriage. Ferdinand followed behind her, and they embarked together to the opera house.

There was no conversation between them. Marianne looked down at her pale hands, and Ferdinand kept his gaze out the window, neither groom nor bride saying a word. It wasn’t a tense quiet, or necessarily unpleasant, but it was awkward. There had been no silence with Dimitri. He’d been all laughter and smiles and inquiries to her interests, close contact, warm words. He had cared. Ferdinand, though polite as any nobleman should be, was unreachable to her.

Once they arrived at their destination, Ferdinand exited the coach and held out his hand to Marianne once more. She accepted and stepped out onto the brick courtyard, cast in the colors of sunset.

The Mittelfrank Opera House stood tall and proud above the encircling buildings. Crafted of white stone and golden filigree, sculpted columns surrounded its every side and banners with the Mittelfrank emblem hung on every one. Already, a crowd was gathering. Beside the entrance stood a great glass-protected painting of a beautiful brunette in a white gown, with text that read: DOROTHEA, _THE_ DOROTHEA!

“It’s so big,” said Marianne with a little smile, craning her neck to view the full scale of the opera house.

Ferdinand chuckled, which surprised her. “I know I have only met you once, but I do not think I have seen you smile before.”

“It, um...” She hesitantly took his arm. “It doesn't happen often.”

“You should smile more,” he said. “It is most lovely on you. In a setting as magnificent as this, what could you have to feel sad about?”

Marianne, remembering the orphans, frowned.

The interior of the opera house mirrored the exterior’s luxury. Plush red carpet spread across the floor under intricate rugs of Adrestian make. Statues of half-naked women posed along the walls all the way to the domed ceiling, and the chandelier was larger than most houses, each tiny crystal glittering in candlelight.

“What do you think, Miss Edmund?” asked Ferdinand as they wandered into the auditorium. “I see awe in your eyes. Correct me if I am wrong.”

“It’s beautiful,” muttered Marianne. Thoughts of the poor aside, she could not deny artistic beauty when it was so elegantly displayed. “I didn’t know opera houses were so... so...”

“Stylish?”

She nodded.

“This place is sacred to the nobility. I am certain that some nobles spend more time here than at church, in prayer.”

“I doubt they visit church at all,” she replied, but Ferdinand did not hear her. He was summoned by a stranger who struck a conversation, and Marianne was set aside.

She wished she hadn’t come. Marianne was more lonely at the opera house than she was at home, with her father. All these wealthy individuals having discussions beyond her will to comprehend made her feel ostracized. Ferdinand introduced her to several politicians and lawmakers. All of them were dressed in excessive feathers and jewels and lace, boasting more money than one person could ever need. Marianne wondered if they burned it in the winter to keep warm. They received her formally upfront, but eyed her with daggers when she turned away. “A locket,” whispered one of the women. “What kind of country girl wears a locket to the opera?”

Marianne looked down at the gold locket resting against her sternum. She took it between her fingers, feeling mournful. These people would have her trade her only memento from a happy childhood for diamonds. If they were the company Ferdinand enjoyed, her marriage would be dismal indeed.

Marianne kept Ferdinand’s arm and said nothing as they entered the outer hall, climbing the marble stairs to their seats. Two royal guards stood outside box five, which was reserved for the queen’s party. Thick scarlet drapery separated the hall from the auditorium. In her sorrow, Marianne had almost forgotten that it was Her Majesty who'd invited her here, not Ferdinand. He lifted the curtain and guided her forward.

The regal Queen Edelgard sat alone beside two vacant chairs. Her alabaster hair was twisted and fashioned neatly with a rose-shaped comb, and a crown of rubies adorned her head. Her gown was a deep crimson with the most delicate lace and her necklace was heavy with diamonds. She smiled at the sight of her guests.

“Ferdinand,” said the queen in greeting. Marianne curtsied before royalty, and Ferdinand left her side, kissing cheeks with Queen Edelgard like an old friend. “It’s wonderful to see you. You look well.”

“As do you, Edelgard. How long has it been since we last saw one another? Not since your wedding, I believe.”

Marianne found increasing interest in the patterns on the floor. She hugged herself, coming to the edge of the box to ignore Ferdinand while she could, peering over the rail at the chipper socialites three stories below. Watching them mingle made her inadequacies more apparent. She didn't belong here, not with Ferdinand, not in this life. Would the crowd gasp if she leapt over the edge of the box to her demise? Would they weep for her? Would they care at all?

Men and women filed into their seats as the performance drew near. The orchestra began to tune, an oboe playing a single note that floated up to the painted ceiling. The rest of the orchestra matched the pitches of their instruments. Marianne hoped that the music, if nothing else, might cheer her.

“Edelgard,” said Ferdinand from behind, “shall I introduce you to—”

“Marianne von Edmund,” said the queen.

Marianne turned in shock at the sound of her name, so much that she nearly forgot custom. She bowed her head as Queen Edelgard approached. “Um... hello, Your Majesty.” For siblings, the queen and Dimitri looked nothing alike, her lilac gaze unfamiliar, and Marianne was surprised at how short she was. Small, but intimidating. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“And I you.” Edelgard smiled. “Sit next to me, won’t you? Between Ferdinand and I. He knows as well as I that it’s unbearable to be near him for long.”

Ferdinand sighed. “You have always been harsh with me,” he noted, “though I admit, sometimes I deserve it.”

The three of them took their seats. Marianne yearned to sink into the floor. Her, an inconsequential girl from Leicesterian country, an adopted orphan with no glory to her bloodline, sitting between the Queen of Fódlan and the Prime Minister. She was sure that members of the audience stared.

“Have you ever been to an opera before, Miss Edmund?” asked Queen Edelgard, leaning in to speak quietly. The orchestra had finished tuning, and all that remained was the timpani. “They’re quite different here in Enbarr.”

“So it seems, ma’am,” said Marianne. “Operas aren’t very popular in Derdriu. I’ve been to plays, though.”

Edelgard hummed. “Derdriu doesn’t cling to its operatic history. The rest of Fódlan may have regular theatre, but no heart like Enbarr.”

No heart? How could a queen say such a thing? Marianne yearned to speak as she would to a peer, but Edelgard was as far from an equal as could be. She closed her mouth.

“Please,” said the queen. “I would have you speak your mind.”

 _Win her favor and prove yourself,_ Margrave Edmund had instructed. Marianne stood at a forked path; turn left and betray the wishes of her father, or turn right and betray her own integrity. She weighed the choice for far too long. Perhaps it was the boldness of being alone, or the fear of it, but Marianne decided to prove herself in her own way.

“I don’t see much heart in Enbarr,” she said carefully. “I watched a little boy be pushed in the mud outside my window. All he needed was food. So many bystanders were dressed in riches that would buy bread and rice for months, but no one gave him a second thought.” Marianne wrung her hands in her lap. Her heart thundered in the anticipation of disgrace. “I, um... I think the heart of a city comes from more than just the opera, ma’am. That’s all.”

Edelgard leaned away from her. Marianne’s exhale trembled, and she waited for the order, for guards to drag her shamefully from the royal presence, balling her fists in her lap. Instead, Queen Edelgard said something that would haunt her for days: “You remind me of my brother.”

Marianne met the queen’s eyes. “I do?”

“Yes. He also cares for those that society has cast aside, especially the children. He opened the largest orphanage in the kingdom in Fhirdiad, and visits often to make sure the little ones are being treated well.”

Marianne didn’t know what to say. Dimitri had struck her as a troubled yet kind soul, but hearing of his humanitarianism stirred her. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yes, it is.” Edelgard lifted her floral fan from her lap and opened it, fanning herself, more dignified in that single movement than Marianne had ever been. “If it were up to me, Miss Edmund, I would purge the entire corrupted system of nobility and start fresh. But that is another discussion for a different setting.” She smiled. “When I return to Derdriu in two weeks, I would like to have tea with you. I hope you accept.”

Marianne blinked in surprise. She couldn’t read the queen’s intentions, couldn’t see what she was searching for, but there was no time to ask. The curtain rose. With a great crescendo from the orchestra, the show began.

The opera told a harrowing tale of star-crossed lovers separated by class and duty. Betrayal, adultery, insanity and heartbreak tugged at every soul in the audience. The star soprano, Dorothea, had such a somber, heavenly voice that Marianne was brought to tears during the aria, a song of lost love and promises.

Marianne glanced to Ferdinand at her side. He seemed smitten with the opera singer. Transfixed, bewitched. One of his hands gripped his thigh and his eyes were focused, expression consumed by a longing. He _yearned_ for Dorothea. Would he always look at other women the same way, Marianne wondered? Would she ever be enough for someone to love?

Marianne stared down at her hands. The opera’s finale was lost to her. When the show concluded and the actors took their bows, she stood and applauded, wishing she could disappear.

> _Oh Diary,_ Marianne wrote that night.
> 
> _The opera itself was a wonderful experience, but I don’t think I ever want to see one again. The whole affair was dreadful. I didn’t get to ask Queen Edelgard about Dimitri, and Duke Aegir had eyes for another woman. The soprano! I had hoped that in his kindness, Ferdinand might be bearable company and I could grow to love him over time, but that was childish. I am no better than any young woman who has come before me. We are taught such nice things about what it means to be cherished, yet rarely do we ever experience them._
> 
> _Though, I suppose it is wrong of me to criticize Ferdinand when my mind is occupied by Dimitri. That, too, is a childish hope. I am certain that he has forgotten me. I’m very unmemorable. How easy it must be for a man of his charm and stature to make women swoon! Was I just another fly in his web, or have I now become too cynical?_
> 
> _This business of love doesn’t suit me. I’m better off in loneliness where I’ve always been until the Goddess allows me to come to her side. It is as my father always says; no one will love me if I’m poor in matters of womanhood. But womanhood, I think, is poor in matters of me._
> 
> _Diary... if you are listening, please give me a sign of my value. I fear I have none left._

Marianne tucked her journal under her pillow and blew out the bedside candle, smothering the room in darkness.

** DIMITRI **

Dimitri had learned a new definition of the word “heartsick.” He was a passionate soul by nature, having obsessed over stories of knighthood and chivalry in his youth, and it showed in the ways he defined all things romantic. Meeting a beautiful girl at a royal ball was exactly the kind of dream he’d dreamt as a boy. Now that it had become real against all odds, he could not chase Marianne von Edmund from his mind. 

As the Duke of Faerghus, Dimitri had plenty of important tasks to keep him distracted from her. He was a constant presence in the life of the people. They praised him in a way he felt was undeserved, calling him a “savior” for returning to his position and setting the region right after years of discord. He’d alleviated the rise in thievery by addressing poverty concerns, invested in fertile lands to stop famine, and built storehouses side-by-side with citizens to keep food for brutal winters. It would be selfish of Dimitri to focus on love when all of Faerghus depended on him.

But Marianne was everywhere. She was in every birdsong, every breath of air, every piano note he played. If it were possible to fall in love at first sight, Dimitri believed himself doomed.

“Something is on your mind,” said Dedue one afternoon as the two of them hacked at a patch of dirt with twin spades. Dedue, expert gardener that he was, had decided that a rose bush at the south end of Castle Blaiddyd needed relocating to allow the petunias more sunlight. “Are you thinking about the girl you met at the Saint Macuil ball?”

“No,” Dimitri defended poorly. He stopped shoveling to wipe the sweat from his forehead. There would be no lying to Dedue. “Yes.”

“You should make an effort to see her, then.” Dedue dumped a spade full of dirt into the wheelbarrow between them. “If you know her name, she should not be difficult to find.”

“That’s the problem,” said Dimitri. “I've already found her.”

Dedue paused his work. He looked to Dimitri from his great height, a single brow arched. His cool, dark skin had tanned under the beating sun and his green eyes were pensive. “What is stopping you?”

Dimitri sighed. “She’s betrothed.”

“I see.”

“Not by choice,” Dimitri clarified. “It’s an arranged marriage. I am certain she felt similar to me as we danced that night.” His chest tightened at the mere memory of Marianne, her candlelit gaze and singsong laughter. “I don’t want to damage her reputation by asking for her company. But she haunts me, Dedue. I want to be near her again.”

“You will find a way.” Dedue gave a supportive shrug. “If she cares for you as well, it will not be difficult.”

Dimitri would be lost without Dedue’s sense of calm. His brother of choice, they had been bonded for over a decade, and Dedue had never steered him wrong. “You sound so sure.”

“I am.” Dedue rested his arm on the handle of his shovel, looking over Dimitri’s shoulder, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Though I suppose we shall have to continue this conversation another time.”

“Oh?” said Dimitri. “What do you—”

The pounding of little footsteps in the grass rushed behind him. “ROAR!” shouted a tiny voice as loud as it could. Dimitri smiled, dropped his spade, and pretended to faint as he hit the ground.

“Esmeralda,” scorned Dedue. “What have we told you about startling Dimitri? It isn’t good for him.”

“I’m not Esmeralda!” shouted Esmeralda. “I’m a lion cub! _ROAR!_ ”

“Wonderfully done,” Dimitri noted from the ground. He turned his head, squinting in the sun as his niece basked in its light. Esmeralda was seven years old and filled with her mother’s fire. She had missed Dedue’s quiet nature entirely, and Dimitri adored her. “You will make a fierce lioness someday.”

“Thank you, Uncle Mitri.” Esmeralda giggled. Her blonde hair spilled in waves over her shoulders and her gown was covered in dirt. “When you go out today, will you bring me flowers?”

“The finest ones I see.” Dimitri sat upright and kissed her cheek. “But I don’t think I’ll get the chance to go riding today, little one. I promised your father I’d help him tend the garden.”

“Do not worry,” said Dedue. “I garden because I enjoy it, not because it is tedious. There is no need to assist me.” He motioned to his eldest daughter. “Besides, I have Esmeralda here to—”

Esmeralda bolted back to the castle. Dimitri chuckled as he rose to his feet. “She has no intention of helping.”

“Apparently not.” Dedue shrugged before taking his spade once more, shoving it into the dirt. “Please, go riding if you intend to. Perhaps while you’re away, you will find an answer to your dilemma about this Edmund girl.”

“I doubt it,” said Dimitri. “But I will endeavor to do my best. Thank you, my friend. Your help is as invaluable as always.” He gave Dedue a pat on his muscled shoulder before setting off toward the stables, to Lissa, his beloved mare.

A half hour’s tranquil ride from home brought Dimitri to the foot of a waterfall. Spilling into a moderate pool that merged with the King's River downstream, the waterfall was bordered by a rocky cliff overgrown with moss, and tall evergreens reached to the heavens from their roots deep underground. Dimitri and Edelgard had played here as children. Swimming together, laughing together, before the world came apart.

“What do you think, Lissa?” asked Dimitri. “Can we find some good rocks for skipping today?”

Lissa snorted. Dimitri acknowledged this as a sign of indifference. He dismounted and led his mare to the water’s edge, roping her to the trunk of a tree so she wouldn’t wander.

Dimitri began his afternoon ritual. It was boring and repetitive to some, but for a man like him, routine was crucial. He plucked a few flattened rocks from the riverbank and prepared his stance, flicking them one at a time, watching them bounce across the water until they sank.

His father had taught him to skip rocks many years ago, in the spring after Dimitri turned twelve. “Skipping rocks balances strength with delicacy,” his father had told him. “Throw the rock too hard or soft, and you won’t succeed. You must have the knowledge to equalize both traits.”

“I understand,” Dimitri had lied.

He wouldn’t understand until long after his father’s head was severed from his shoulders. Dimitri’s condition forced him to face the difference between reality and delusion, between self help and hindrance, things that no person should need to learn. But controlling one’s strength? Delicacy? These were matters Dimitri felt he failed in, and so he skipped rocks during uncertain times, hoping wisdom might grace him with clarity.

A horse whinnied in the distance. Dimitri paused. Real or false? He had yet to tell. Even on pleasant days, there was always the hum of whispers in the wind.

Dimitri stayed frozen until the whinny was followed by a woman’s scream. “Dorte!” cried the girl. “Dorte, please!”

He rushed to action. Dimitri dashed across the riverbank and up the incline leading to the forest trail, looking left, then right. 

A striped snake slithered across the path. Dorte, a fierce nut-brown stallion, reared in horror. Marianne von Edmund lay on the forest floor, eyes filled with worry, having been thrown from the saddle.

Dimitri knew he could not help Marianne without first calming the horse. He came forward, hands raised, lowering his head just enough.

“Whoa, boy,” he asserted in a calm tone. Dimitri nudged the harmless snake into the underbrush with the side of his boot. “Whoa, whoa. It’s alright. The snake is gone now.”

Dorte flailed again, then began to settle, responding to the depth of Dimitri’s voice. He huffed and pawed his hooves into the dirt.

“There you are. You’re a smart one, I can see it.” Dimitri took a slow step forward. “Only the best for Miss Edmund, isn’t that right?”

A gentle breeze rolled through. It filled both of their lungs, and Dorte stilled, snorting as he fell calm. Dimitri reached out. Dorte allowed him to take the reins, and Dimitri stroked his mane with long fingers, smiling to feel him breathe deep. “There, there. That’s better. There is no more danger here.”

Once assured that Dorte would rear no more, Dimitri dropped the reins and came to Marianne’s side to assess her. He knelt and offered his hand. “Miss Edmund, are you hurt? Is anything broken?”

“My, um... my side is sore,” Marianne replied with a wince, “but I’m alright. Thank you.” She took his hand as he helped her to her feet, and kept it held as they stood before one another.

Here she was. Marianne had come to him by some gift of fate. Dimitri’s elation could not be withheld, and much to his relief, Marianne smiled just the same. “Forgive me. I’m not normally someone blessed with good fortune, but I’ve found some today, it seems.”

Marianne shyly chuckled. “Maybe so.”

Dimitri closed his other hand over hers — so _small_ — holding it gently between both of his. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Dimitri. I’m fine.” With a quake in her breath, Marianne smoothed her other palm along the back of his right hand. The touch of her skin was warm and his heart floated in his chest. They stared into each other’s eyes, clinging to one another, lost in the strange miracle of the moment. Her pale hair was half pulled back in a silk bow, and the rest spilled over her shoulders in waves, reaching her low back. Her riding frock was dark brown with gold buttons, and underneath, a dress of the lightest blue Dimitri had ever seen hugged her waist, spreading out around her. He felt rather ashamed for his simple chemise and breeches.

Marianne’s cheeks turned pink, and she broke their shared gaze. “I, um... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Nor I you,” said Dimitri. “But I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

Reluctantly, Dimitri let go of her hands. He watched her smile as she looked down to her feet and wondered what filled her with joy. “Were you out for a stroll?” he asked.

Marianne nodded. “When I’m troubled, I find time to ride. I’m not sure how it makes me feel better, but it does.”

“I understand. I often do the same as well.” Dimitri handed Dorte’s reins to Marianne. “You’re quite far from Derdiu.”

“Yes,” she said, frowning. “I was quite troubled.”

Dimitri’s hands flexed at his sides. If he could open her heart and pull the strands of sorrow until they were no more, he would in an instant. “I have a spot that I tend to visit whenever I’m feeling down.” He motioned in the direction of the falls with his chin. “Would you like to see it?”

Marianne glanced up to the sky peeking between the treetops, gauging the time. “Yes, I think so. As long as I’m not out past sunset. My father would be furious.”

“I won’t keep you longer than you are willing to stay,” Dimitri promised. He held out his hand, and she accepted without hesitation.

Dimitri led Marianne and Dorte to the small hill that spread open to the riverbank, down a steady dip of grass lowering to the water. Not far, the waterfall drained into the hushed pond and continued onward to the river, glistening in the rays of light that bled through the leaves. “What a beautiful place,” said Marianne in awe. “How did you find it?”

“My sister and I played here as children,” he said. “My father would bring me here too, sometimes. It’s a place I’ve never really forgotten.”

Marianne let go of Dimitri’s hand to tie Dorte to a nearby tree. She must have been a dancer in a past life, to move with such fluid grace. Her head turned to Dimitri’s mare. “This must be Lissa.”

“I’m surprised you remember her name.” Dimitri came to Lissa’s side with Marianne and patted his horse on the neck, admiring her amber coat. “I rode out today looking for solace, too. Lissa is a wonderful listener.”

“So is Dorte,” said Marianne. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I’ve always loved how animals really listen and care, even when people don’t think they do.” She held out her hand. Lissa sniffed her open palm before allowing Marianne to pet her mane. “She’s lovely.”

“She is,” Dimitri replied, his eye fixed on Marianne’s smile.

Conversation between them flowed like the gentle river. They spoke at length of animals and philosophy and their favorite scents, of the pianoforte and anxiety and horseback rides on autumn days. A great deal of time was spent discussing their shared interest in poetry. “ _Thine hair is threaded with gold plucked from the sun’s eye,_ ” Marianne quoted as she looked at him. “ _With naught but a whisper, thou maketh the wind sigh._ ” Dimitri did not believe it fair for her to compare him to a figure so powerful. “But I think you’re strong,” said Marianne, “both outside and in. That kind of strength is worth a stanza or two.”

Hours passed. The sun found a new position in the cloud-dotted sky, and late afternoon heat grew thick in the air. Dimitri and Marianne sat together by the water’s edge, neither of them willing to leave the company of the other. Dimitri would stay until the clouds became stars, if it were appropriate to do so.

“Dimitri,” asked Marianne. “What were you doing here all alone?”

“Ah,” he said, glancing to the waterfall’s edge. A rotting corpse eyed him with spite. A blink, and it was gone. “It’s nothing special. I was just skipping rocks.”

Marianne raised her brow. “How do you do that?”

“It’s simple, really. You find a flat rock and skip it along the surface of the water. Would you like me to teach you?” Before she answered, Dimitri stood and held out his hand, encouragement shining in his eye. She indulged him. Together, they plundered all the suitable rocks they could find and stacked them for Marianne to practice.

Dimitri proved a poor teacher. Verbal explanations did little to instruct the proper flick of the wrist, the use of force or lack of it. “I’m awful,” Marianne giggled as her fifth rock plummeted straight through to the bottom of the pool. She couldn’t grasp them the right way, failing to make even a single bounce after numerous attempts and shifts in tactic. The fact that she was still trying at all proved her resilience.

Dimitri's face grew warm with the realization that he would have to show her in a more proactive way. “Here,” he said, closing their distance. “If you’ll allow me?”

He moved slow behind Marianne. Dimitri placed his left hand at the side of her arm, and he reached forward with the other, curling his fingers around the back of her right palm. His heart pounded like thunder as he adjusted the position of her hand. A breeze weaved through her hair. The scent of lavender soap filled his nostrils before fading, and he wished his sense of smell were better, so he might experience her more.

“There,” he said, his voice low. “Try that.”

Marianne remained frozen as Dimitri removed his hands from her. She stayed still for a short while, and he wondered if he had misspoken, but Marianne flicked the rock forward when she was ready. It bounced twice atop the surface of the water before sinking with a _plop, plop, splash_.

“Ah!” yelped Marianne. “I actually did it.”

“Well done, Miss Edmund.” Dimitri came to her side, a grin curling his lips. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“It’s a sin to lie, Dimitri.”

“Is it not also a sin to deny praise where it is due? Even to yourself?”

She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ve, um... I've never been very good at that. Praising myself.”

“Neither have I. Quite the contrary, in truth.” 

“Mm,” hummed Marianne in agreement. The two of them stared at the flowing river, at the fish that wriggled and swam, the sparkling water in the sun, the life, the possibility. Dimitri wondered what Marianne saw when she looked at the river. Something happy, he hoped.

“Well,” said Dimitri after a long silence, “if you are unable to praise yourself, I will happily fulfill that duty for you, Miss Edmund.”

She turned to him. Dimitri’s cheeks burned again, and he rubbed his neck, embarrassed as a schoolboy. “As an uplifting friend, of course.”

Dimitri felt Marianne’s gentle hand touch his elbow. He faced her, his blue eye wide. “I’ll uplift you too, Dimitri,” she told him. “You deserve it. And please, call me Marianne.”

There, again, in that ever expansive plain he entered when he was with her, Dimitri felt her understanding. Hers was a scarred heart. Marianne, of all the people he dearly wished had never known pain, was a kindred soul.

Dimitri placed his hand on her shoulder. Together, they shared a broken smile.

Dimitri had lost track of time. His mind was eased in Marianne’s presence, light, as though the burdens that weighed it down had been temporarily cut free. “I know you should be leaving soon,” he said, “but before you go, can I ask you a favor?”

“Yes, Dimitri?”

“Would you be so kind as to help me find flowers for my niece?”

“Oh,” chuckled Marianne. “Yes. I saw some pretty orange ones not far down the trail. Let me show you."

Dimitri and Marianne untied their horses. Side by side, they walked at a leisurely pace and chatted all the way, their subjects broad, neither one in a hurry.

Around the corner from the waterfall, patches of orange blooms lined the edges of the trail. Dimitri knelt beside the brush to pluck the flowers at their stems. Marianne came to his side and followed suit.

“Orange cosmos,” said Dimitri. “That is what these are.”

“Oh. Are you studying flowers?”

“To a degree. My brother, Dedue, is a gardener. I learn through him.”

Marianne made a little pile of cosmos between them, and Dimitri added those he’d picked until the stack was sizable. When they were done, Dimitri gathered the flowers together and stood. He divided them into two summery bouquets, and with a sweaty hand, offered one to Marianne. The act would have been smoothly chivalrous if not for his nervous tone. “For you."

Marianne blinked as she rose to her feet. “M-Me?”

“Of course. I have more than enough here for two people.” He cleared his throat. “If there is anyone else I want to give flowers to, it's you.”

Marianne’s blush was endearing. It gave him a foolhardy hope that maybe, _maybe,_ she felt the same flutter that he did whenever he beheld her. She accepted the small bouquet and beamed. “Thank you, Dimitri. I’ll put them in a glass vase on my bedside table, so I’ll get to see them every morning.”

“That sounds most perfect, Marianne.”

With ease, Dimitri lifted Marianne by the waist into her saddle. He looked up at her with a longing he wished to contain, and found it reflected in her eyes.

“I cherish your company, Dimitri,” she said with an unhindered smile. “More than you know. I look forward to seeing you again.”

His tone was low and mellow when he replied. “The sooner I see you, the happier I will be.”

Dimitri watched her and Dorte set south on the forest trail, standing beside Lissa, utterly helpless. Marianne waved goodbye. He returned the favor before she rounded the next corner, disappearing from sight, taking part of him along.

Hope flickered like a dying candle. Marianne was too pure for Dimitri, too humble, too sweet. She did not deserve the curse of a monster like him. Ferdinand von Aegir, if smart, would treat her with utmost care and devotion for all his days.

Even so, hope had yet to burn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vill is very shy, so i (nat) will be writing the endnotes from here on out!  
> the contrast between "enemies to lovers" and "love at first sight" in this fic between edelclaude and dimimari is SUCH whiplash but it's so good ;___; i'm so soft for both of these couples..... this AU has changed my LIFE  
> thank you so much for reading! tune in in two weeks' time for angst :^)


	3. rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard contemplates the future. Ferdinand faces consequences. Marianne gives a precious gift.
> 
> **soundtrack choice:**   
>  [[first impressions; adrian johnston](https://youtu.be/LE6-fxLUcMA)]   
> 

****

** GARLAND MOON  
** ** EDELGARD **

The dining room was tensely quiet. Edelgard sat with immaculate posture across the table from Khalid, who tended to slouch. The only sound between them was the scrape of silver forks on porcelain, the clearing of a throat, a gulp of wine. Roast duck was served with fried onions and buttered mushroom slices, fresh fruits that El had brought with her from Enbarr and cranberry salad with an herbal glaze. The wine was blood red, as Edelgard preferred. She sipped before cutting a slice of duck with fork and knife. 

“So,” said Khalid after twenty minutes of silence. “How were your two weeks in Enbarr?”

“Pleasant,” El replied, not missing the mark. “Refreshing.”

“I’m assuming you stayed with Hubert and Petra?”

“I did not.” The thought of Hubert, Edelgard’s confidante and first flame, made her solemn. His name was synonymous with regret. It was a shame that he and Petra had found happiness in their political marriage. El would much like to feel Hubert’s hands grip her hips in that bruising way again, to feel _something_ , if only for a moment. “I stayed with Dorothea.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Khalid leaned back in his iron chair. “How many kids do Hubert and Petra have now? Four? Five?”

“Four,” El confirmed. “All girls. And Petra wants another.”

“Wow. I can see why you avoided that.”

Edelgard shrugged. “I’m not adverse to children. I'm sure Hubert's are very well behaved, given his nature.”

Khalid grinned, but there was conflict in his eyes that contradicted his amusement. His mind was working, ticking like a clock, those strange cogs of his turning together in a most clandestine way.

“You’re not adverse to children?” he posed. From his pocket, Khalid retrieved one of El’s secret teabags and dropped it on the table between them. “Would you mind explaining this, then?”

Edelgard glared at the little silk pouch. The infertility tea had been a wedding gift from Mercedes to be used after nights of mock intimacy. Over the course of El's marriage, there hadn't been many. She kept calm, though her fists clenched where they rested in her lap. “You went into my room.”

“You left it behind when we had breakfast together,” said Khalid. “Don’t play dumb. Even when you’re angry, you don’t make mistakes if you really want to keep a secret. You wanted me to find this. To spite me, I’m guessing.”

“Do you have a problem?” Edelgard, to further spite him, plucked the teabag from the table and poured herself a cup of hot water from the kettle. She dipped the contraceptive into the cup and met his eyes with hers of purple steel. “Whether or not I have children, and when I have them, is my decision.”

Khalid pushed out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead, slumping back in his chair. “Goddess, Edelgard. Please stop. I’m not trying to fight you.”

“Then why bring it up at all?”

“Because it’s something we should talk about.”

“Why?” El raised her brow, keeping his gaze as she sipped the bitter drink. “Are you eager for children?”

“Not necessarily.” Khalid began to bounce his leg under the table. El recognized it as a habit of frustration, an urge to move when he could not. “It’s the nobility, Edelgard. They want heirs from us. It’s been over two years since we got married, and they want to make sure the royal line is secure.”

“Tell them to speak to me personally on such matters,” spat Edelgard. “ _I_ am the one who will bear the future king or queen of Fódlan and risk my life doing so, not you. They should come to _me._ ”

“I agree.” Khalid’s tone was assertive. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his stare pointed sharp. “Don’t misunderstand me. Whenever you want to have a child, I’m all for it. You have complete control. I told the nobles as much.”

Under the table, Edelgard’s fists began to loosen, though she was wholly confused.

“I just wish you would’ve talked to me about it,” said Khalid, “instead of sneaking around with tea that barely works. I can have an apothecary make something better for you.”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes. “You... want to help me?”

“I think I’ve made that pretty clear.”

Help. From Khalid. El released the tension in her hands, taking a moment to settle her ire. Khalid was irritating, true, but not ill-meaning. He had never given her a reason to feel belittled. Perhaps it was in her best interest to give him the benefit of doubt, if only once. “Another one of your poisons?” she asked. “I know how fond you are of those.”

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “Something like that.”

Edelgard chewed the inside of her cheek. The offer was tempting, but she had learned the hard way not to exchange her confidence so easily. “I’m sorry, Khalid. I appreciate the offer, but I will continue to use the tea whenever we share a bed. It hasn’t failed me yet.”

Khalid’s smile fell. “You still don’t trust me.”

“You don’t trust me either. Do not lie and say otherwise.” Slowly, Edelgard stood, her gown billowing around her. She moved around their table for two to stand at his side. “I demand agency, Khalid. The women in this country tend to submit to their husbands, but I am no such wife. I did not choose to marry you. I will have this choice, now.”

Khalid wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. He dropped it atop his empty plate and rose to meet her, standing before Edelgard, half a head taller. She lifted her chin in challenge. “You did have a choice,” he said. “I made sure you did.”

“No,” El replied with just as much conviction. “I did what I had to do. There was no other way, and you know that.”

Khalid frowned. El did not need his pity, nor did she want it. He placed a supportive hand on the side of her arm. “I know, Edelgard. I guess I’m just tired of not being someone you can come to with things like this. Call me a sap, but I wanted you to rule _with_ me, not independent from me.”

“Then show me I am your equal.” El took his hand and removed it from her, gaze hardened with resolve. “My trust will not be given before it is earned.”

Khalid smirked with of bitterness. “Neither will mine.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. Edelgard did not have the will, the desire, to push Khalid away a second time. She resented his stubbornness and his schemes, but Goddess, if her wounded body didn’t ache to betray her and melt into him, into the physical release she knew he could bring.

Khalid turned away. He exited the dining room, leaving Edelgard alone with their meal and the sting of the most meaningful conversation they’d ever had.

∰

Derdriu afternoons were growing warmer by the day. Spring had blossomed fully into the febrile bloom of summer. Bees buzzed about the roses in El’s garden, each with their own little duty to attend, and servants had moved the outdoor tea table under the gazebo to give shade from the offensive sun. In truth, Edelgard enjoyed the heat, having spent most of her teenage years in Enbarr with the man she refused to name. But her teatime guest might not be so resilient. 

Edelgard was curious about Marianne von Edmund. She seemed a shy girl with a great deal of anxiety, perhaps insecurity, but she was intelligent and beautiful even if she was afraid to show it. Humility was a valuable trait in a person, and her laughter, once earned, appeared genuine. Dimitri was quite smitten with her. That alone was cause enough for Edelgard to investigate, and what better way to observe someone than over a cup of tea?

“Your Majesty,” said the Edmund girl as she was escorted to the garden gazebo. She curtsied to her queen. She was dressed in a flattering mint gown with flowers and lace at the sleeves, and her hair was pinned back in a bun; such a charming shade of blue. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Edmund. The pleasure is mine.” Edelgard motioned for Marianne to sit across from her at the circular table, and she did so promptly, folding her hands in her lap. The table was covered in assorted desserts, including a tower of cookies and muffins and miniature cakes, some of lemon with a sugary drizzle, others of chocolate and stuffed with raspberries. “Tea?”

“Um, yes please.”

Marianne reached for the teapot as El did. Their hands nearly collided, and Marianne’s eyes shot wide as if she expected El to crawl across the table and strike her. “I’ll serve,” El assured. “You are my guest, so I will pour the tea. It’s a custom in Adrestia.”

“Y-Yes, of course.” Marianne’s hands shot back to her lap. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s alright.”

Someone had treated this girl poorly. Her father, of course. El recognized the trepidation in Marianne and knew, from experience, the horror she must feel. She lifted the teapot and poured two cups of lavender tea — Hilda had informed her that it was Marianne’s favorite. “Are you frightened?” Edelgard asked. “I know I can appear... intimidating, to some.”

“Frightened? No, ma’am.” Marianne forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been around royalty like this. To be in your presence again is a bit overwhelming.”

“Please, there’s no need for ceremony.” Edelgard dropped sugar cubes in each of their cups and added a bit of cream to her own. The two women sipped their tea with all the politeness expected of them. Birds sang cheerily in the trees nearby, and a trace of the rose garden scented the breeze.

“Such a lovely tea set,” noted Marianne. She held up her cup to the light, admiring the golden rim and numerous crimson flowers painted in different stages of bloom. “Was this made in Enbarr, too?”

“Yes. It belonged to my father, Ionius, though he died just after I was born.” Edelgard took another drink. “It was his mother’s before his, and her father’s before hers. It passes generations and switches genders each time it is inherited. My son, if I have one, will become its next owner.”

Marianne eyed the craftsmanship with awe before returning cup to saucer. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. But I hope you will have a prince someday, ma’am, if only so the tradition continues.”

Edelgard worked her jaw. She could not fault Marianne for her mention of children. This girl had no inkling of the conversation with Khalid a few days past, so El allowed the comment to slip by without regard. “Would you like to know why I asked you here today, Miss Edmund?”

Marianne placed her hands back in her lap. “If you wish, ma’am.”

“I wanted to talk to you about my brother.” El plucked a lemon cake from the tower of sweets and placed it on her porcelain plate. “You’ve charmed the wit out of him. I would like to get to know you.”

Marianne’s face turned as red as the roses. A nervous breath escaped her, and she held her cheeks in her hands, her eyes reading of flustered excitement and embarrassment. “Um... charmed? That can’t be right.”

El grinned behind her lemon cake. “When I went to visit him last, you were all he talked about.”

“There must be some mistake. I’m nothing special.”

“Dimitri disagrees. Quite fervently, too.” El wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I take my brother’s happiness very seriously, Miss Edmund. Though he is only my step-brother—”

Marianne seemed intrigued, but she didn’t interrupt. Edelgard nodded. “You didn’t know?”

“No, ma’am,” said Marianne. “Though I did notice that you don’t look very much alike.”

“That is because our relationship is not by blood, but marriage. My mother married his father when we were both very young. We were raised together, for a time.” Edelgard sipped her tea, then focused her violet gaze onto Marianne, calculating her every expression. “Our lack of blood relation has never made a difference to me. He is as important to me as if we were born twins. I would do anything for him. If you are a good match for Dimitri, know that I would bless it in an instant.”

Marianne's shock spread into a sweet smile. True, earnest joy shone brighter than the sun through her eyes, but it only took seconds to flicker and grow dark. “I’m betrothed,” she said. "It can never happen."

“Yes. Well.” Edelgard shrugged. “I have no intention of letting the betrothal laws stand as they are. I have moved mountains for Dimitri before, and I intend to again.” She took a final sip of tea and poured herself another cup. “Betrothals are foolish. They are a weapon of the Church meant to claim noble power and manipulate bloodlines to further assert their authority. Archbishops over centuries have used them to reinforce the wretched system of nobility and keep it on the pedestal where they believe it belongs. So, it must be dealt with.”

To El’s surprise, Marianne chuckled quietly.

“Is something funny?”

“Oh! No, ma’am. I’m not laughing at you.” Marianne shook her head. “I think your passion is admirable. People say you’re outspoken, though, and now I see what they mean.”

“Outspoken, maybe. But I’m not in the wrong.” Edelgard kept her posture straight as an arrow, leaning forward just enough to enforce her goal. “If I were to accomplish the annulment of your betrothal and free both you and Ferdinand to follow your hearts, would you allow my brother to pursue you?”

Marianne opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Conflict was etched across her face.

“I make no promises,” said El, “and I can’t guarantee a resolution before your wedding next spring. But if an annulment _were_ to occur...”

Marianne met Edelgard’s gaze with a new, sudden confidence. “If it were to occur, or even if it weren’t, I would accept his pursuit with an open heart.”

Ah, there it was. Marianne’s desire, her personal ambition unhindered by faith, was precisely what Edelgard had been looking for. A willingness to defy the status quo and take what called to her. El saw Marianne in a new light as a woman who would fight for Dimitri, for the honor of being by his side through his best and his inevitable worst. Edelgard would not allow Dimitri to wed anyone who offered him less.

“Good. Now then.” El gave Marianne a rare smile. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Edmund. I’ve heard from Dimitri that you are quite skilled with horses?”

The more Marianne revealed herself to Edelgard, the more El began to understand. Marianne and Dimitri were similar individuals in the most crucial of ways, on fundamental levels. They both shared a love of music and poetry and long horseback rides. They valued honest humility, and their hearts were gentle to the core. There was sadness, too. A hollowness within Marianne that El had seen before. Perhaps, she decided, two broken souls finding comfort in one another was as valid a love as any.

Dimitri had found a suitable match. All that remained were the mountains in Edelgard’s way.

** FERDINAND **

Waves of the Adrestian sea lapped at the rocky shore. Imposing as its owner, the Vestra estate stood like a sculpted blot against the rising sun. Ferdinand cast his eyes to the water from where he stood at the second floor balcony. Petra was chasing her four children along the beach, sand kicking up from their little feet as they ran to and fro. Their laughter reached him, and Ferdinand grinned, the seaside breeze weaving through his ginger curls.

Historically, Ferdinand was excellent at assessing his emotions. A stranger to significant hardship, Ferdinand knew his noble upbringing had blessed him with stability, good fortune and privilege that not many in Fódlan could boast, but the past year had challenged him like no other. His father’s cancer diagnosis and eventual death left Ferdinand feeling adrift, lonely, with no one to consult for guidance or paternal solace. 

Sometimes, Ferdinand felt as though he didn’t deserve to mourn his father. There were orphans in Enbarr who had never known their parents, or were treated cruelly by them. What right did Ferdinand have to grieve? These were false feelings, of course, but he was unarmed against them, and in the wake of Dorothea's sadness and the betrothal to Marianne, his superior emotional prowess had begun to slip. 

Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Ferdinand did not need to turn to know who had joined him.

“You look somber this morning,” said Hubert with his rumbling voice, offering Ferdinand a mug of tea. In his other hand, he carried his typical morning coffee, imported from Dagda. The smell made Ferdinand’s nose curl. “I wonder what troubles you.”

Ferdinand accepted the tea and blew softly on the surface. “It is rather unlike me, is it not?”

“Unsettlingly so. Your optimism, while burdensome, is something I have adjusted to over the years.”

Ferdinand looked over to where Hubert stood. He was tall, his posture and demeanor threatening to those who did not know him — and to those who did. His black locks were already styled for the day, and he was dressed in an elaborate suit of the same color that only Hubert could pull off. His light green eyes were harrowing, but not to Ferdinand who had learned of his warmth, and his cheekbones were sharp as glass with a jaw just as bold. In another life, Ferdinand would have cherished a morning kiss from Hubert, especially in their youth. But it was not to be.

“You are departing for Almyra today, are you not?” asked Hubert.

“I am.” Ferdinand turned back to the open sea. “I will be discussing trade with King Nader before returning to Derdriu to report to the king, but I shall be back within two to three moons. If you are still in Fódlan when I return, I hope I will still be welcome to stay?”

“Naturally,” said Hubert with a nod. “My children adore you, and Petra has always been fond of your disposition. I would be insulted if you stayed elsewhere.”

“I look forward to it, then.” Ferdinand placed his tea atop the balcony railing. He chuckled as he watched Petra scoop up her youngest child in her arms, a toddler, while the eldest splashed her sisters with water. Ever the blood of Brigid, one with the sea, their movements fluid, their skin the color of wet sand. Ferdinand hoped his future children would be just as happy. Would they be little brunette darlings, he wondered, or would their hair be sky blue? Both, Goddess forbid?

“You are thinking about Dorothea,” Hubert observed, his eyes peering over the rim of his mug.

Ferdinand scoffed. “How very blunt of you, Hubert. I have not seen Dorothea since our academy days.”

“You are dreadfully predictable and a terrible liar. You truly think I did not know? Me? I know everything that happens in this city, Ferdinand. Even when my family and I are in Brigid, I still know.”

Ferdinand supposed that was true. Hubert had a reputation as a secret keeper, a spymaster of sorts, once in service to Edelgard and now in service to his wife. “I did not think I was so obvious.”

“That is part of the problem.” Hubert’s grin was half devious, half mocking. “If Enbarr did not thrive on the business of adultery, I suppose it would be more of a shock to the public.”

“I never wanted to be that man, Hubert. Having a woman aside from my wife is wrong, but when I picture myself married, Dorothea is my bride. Not Marianne.”

Hubert raised a dark brow. “Has Ferdinand von Aegir fallen in love?”

“Yes,” Ferdinand replied without shame. “Unequivocally. Yet I could not deny my father’s dying wish to tie myself to Marianne. I should have fought for Dorothea. I should have tried to make him see.”

“Your father would have seen nothing,” argued Hubert, turning fully to Ferdinand. “He was as much a wretched noble as those Her Majesty wants to purge. Avaricious, entitled and deaf to the suffering of those he deemed beneath him. If you had expressed your desire to marry a commoner, no matter how famous, he would have refused you without mercy.”

Ferdinand scowled. He opened his mouth to rebuke Hubert, but the harsh truth of his words stung. Ferdinand had loved his father, and it made him blind. “You are brash indeed to insult a mourning son’s father to his face. Still, I...”

Hubert did not respond, nor did he need to. Ferdinand’s father’s scandals lined up behind him, picking at his corpse like vultures. All the fight in Ferdinand was lost. “I cannot push Dorothea away,” he muttered. “Will I become like him, Hubert? Will I become like my father?”

“Not that I can see. You are too optimistic and good-natured, I think. Annoyingly so.”

“Then how can I unmake this betrothal and propose to Dorothea instead?”

Hubert took a pensive sip of coffee. “I am unsure. That is something only Her Majesty can help you with. Or the king, if he were so inclined.”

“The king,” said Ferdinand with a sigh. “I will remember that. I have until spring, so at least there is time.” He placed a hand on Hubert’s broad shoulder, his expression a mix of distress and gratitude. “Thank you, Hubert. Your advice is irreplaceable as always.”

“I know.” A rare smile tugged at the corner of Hubert’s lips before they settled again. “Say goodbye to my daughters before you leave. They won’t forgive you otherwise.”

“I would be a poor uncle indeed to leave without doing so.” Ferdinand finished his tea and entered the Vestra manor, Dorothea and Marianne at the forefront of his mind.

With farewells given and promises made to return, Ferdinand aided the carriage footman in loading his trunks of belongings for his departure to Almyra. It would be easier if King Khalid would visit his father’s homeland himself, but there was no time for an extended stay, and Khalid did not trust the compromised secrecy of the post. As Prime Minister, it was Ferdinand’s job to go in his place. “You’re just the king's lapdog,” Enbarr’s councilmen had barked when they’d learned Ferdinand's plans. “Another pet for the mongrel king.” Ferdinand wondered how any of Adrestia’s nobles expected to win Khalid's favor when they spoke so poorly of him, but at least Edelgard had their love.

It was impossible for Ferdinand to focus on politics for long. There was one more goodbye that needed to be said. He had to see Dorothea, to ensure that she understood in earnest who owned his devotion. “Stop here,” he told the coach driver as they rounded the corner near Dorothea’s apartments. “I will be back shortly. Please wait for me.” Ferdinand flew from the bowels of the carriage and rushed up the gilded staircase to Dorothea’s door.

It was the middle of the day now, nearing afternoon. Someone would see him. Hear him. But if Hubert’s words rang true, half of Enbarr already knew of Ferdinand’s association with Dorothea, and he felt no need for shame. 

Ferdinand knocked. He waited, his heart beating hard in his chest, until she called to him. “Come in, Ferdie.”

He turned the crystal knob and opened the door.

Dorothea was perched on a velvet chaise by the window, her black robe tied about her waist, accentuating her hourglass figure. Her luscious hair fell thick over her shoulders. She looked like a goddess in a sculpture, leaning against the arm of the chaise, her pale legs resting atop one another. A glass of wine was clutched in her hand. Before her, a painting sat upright on an easel with its back to Ferdinand, and she admired it, her eyes misty with tears.

Ferdinand closed the door behind him. Dorothea’s solemn mood was prevalent. He came to her side, sitting near her knees, fixing his gaze on the painting.

He recognized Edelgard’s style immediately. Long strokes of sharp oil paints, careful in their application, with a limited palette and angles that defied a traditional feminine style. The subject of the painting was none other than Dorothea herself, singing at the opera under the spotlight. 

“Edelgard sent this to you?” asked Ferdinand.

“Yes. I opened it yesterday.” Dorothea sat up, finishing her wine and placing the empty glass on the table beside her. She leaned over to rest her head on Ferdinand’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close for comfort. “Do you remember our days at the academy?”

Ferdinand nodded. “I remember them well. How different we all were back then.”

“Hubie was so hostile, but it was fun to mess with him. I miss Petra more than I can say. Edie had just started art, too. She’s gotten so much better in the past eight years.”

“Indeed,” said Ferdinand. “Seventeen feels like so long ago. Looking back, there was such arrogance in my younger self. I am ashamed of it.” Ferdinand tried to chuckle, if only to raise Dorothea’s spirits. “You hated me with immense passion when we were in school, too. I cannot say I blame you. I was a foolish boy.”

“You are still a foolish boy.” Dorothea lifted her head, smiling, but her gaze was somber. She leaned in and kissed him. Ferdinand closed his eyes, relishing the tenderness of her lips and the taste of grapes on her tongue. He slid his hand along her slender waist while the other held her cheek. Their kiss was long and slow. Mournful.

Dorothea pulled away. She stood from the chaise and moved from Ferdinand’s arms, out of reach, and he grew cold in her absence. She walked to the window and folded her arms over her chest. “We can’t keep doing this, Ferdie.”

Ferdinand frowned. “Believe me, Dorothea, I will find a way to fix this. I cannot marry Marianne.”

“But you will, won’t you? It’s about your precious duty. It always has been.” Dorothea refused to look at him. “We should never have started this, anyway. You and I could never be. You’re a duke’s son. I’m a former street urchin turned opera star, and when I’m old, I’ll be a street urchin again. No one will remember me when my voice is gone.”

Ferdinand rose to his feet, his brow creased with worry. “Please, do not say such things. Who could ever forget you?”

“You did. At the cathedral with Marianne, when you gave yourself away.”

Ferdinand’s gut twisted from her words. “I made a grave mistake, Dorothea. Please, give me time to fix it.” He came forward to hold her arms, to secure her, but she recoiled and stepped quickly from his grasp.

“If you can manage it, fine. But Archbishop Rhea is strict. You can’t pull it off.”

“Do you doubt me so?”

“Not you, Ferdie. Just everything else.”

He hated to see her cry. Dorothea was a beautiful soul, wise and passionate and full of charity despite the horrors she’d known. For her to cry was a great misfortune, or so Ferdinand felt, and her tears were his doing. They spilled down her cheeks one after another. He came to her, and Dorothea did not retreat a second time. He kissed her hard. She returned every ounce of his fervor, and Ferdinand wished he did not have a carriage waiting for him just outside, or he would let Dorothea have her perfect way with him. He snaked his fingers in her hair and she bit his lower lip, the longing in their hearts tangled in their tongues. They were breathless when they parted.

“Get out,” she whispered. “Don’t come back.”

“Dorothea—”

“ _Please,_ Ferdie, don’t insult me anymore.” Dorothea’s eyes met his before moving away, once again leaving him cold. “If you can annul the betrothal, I’ll be here. But I won’t hold my breath. Marianne seems like a sweet girl, or so I’ve heard. She deserves better than a fiancé with a mistress.” Dorothea scoffed, resting her hands on her wide hips. “You’re a man. You clearly don’t understand how your choices reflect on _both_ Marianne and I. Do you really think her reputation won’t suffer at all by you being seen with me?”

Ferdinand ached to speak, but nothing came.

“No one blames noblemen for having mistresses. It’s expected of people like you. I’ve been asked countless times to sleep with married men, and if I’d done it, they would’ve rewarded me with so many riches that I’d rival Edie. But who suffers in the end? ‘She can't keep her husband loyal,’ people say about the wives left behind. ‘She must be ugly naked or a horrible bore. She isn't good enough.’ It’s a stupid game, Ferdie, and the women always lose.” Dorothea took a breath. “Take me as your wife or not at all.”

Ferdinand felt as though the air had been snatched from his lungs. He clenched his fists and stared at the floor, not wrathful with her, but with himself. He had been a fool in all the wrong ways. Obeying his father without question, doing the “noble” thing and sacrificing his heart, pretending he could have the woman he loved and fulfill his duty without consequence. Was he truly so entitled? No better than the rest?

After a long silence, Ferdinand sighed. His shoulders slumped. “I will do all I can.”

He said nothing more as he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

** MARIANNE **

Meadows were among the calmest places in the world, in Marianne’s opinion. Summer wind blew softly through the clearing, bending the tall grass and wild sunflower stems, carrying birdsong from branches in the nearby forest. Marianne sat content atop a blanket with Bernadetta and Lysithea. The ribbon at her throat that kept her bonnet secure flapped in the breeze as she worked besides her friends, diligently fulfilling tradition.

Each year during the Garland Moon, unmarried women throughout Fódlan weaved white rose garlands for friends or potential lovers. Some garlands were fashioned into necklaces of sorts, others into decorations for a mantle or window. Marianne busied herself with a crown. Roses and ivy were wrapped around a circular wire, half-complete, and while she should have been making the flower crown for Ferdinand, an entirely different gentleman came to mind.

“How much longer do we have to stay out here?” complained Bernadetta, curling her plum-colored hair timidly behind her ears. Her garland for her betrothed, Felix Fraldarius, had barely been started as she’d spent too much time fretting over being forced outside her home. “There’s so much danger. Bees, spiders, unknown creepers. Someone could be watching us!”

“No one is watching,” groaned Lysithea with a roll of her coral eyes. Instead of flowers, Lysithea was surrounded by books of ancient science and biology, the largest of which was spread open across her lap. The garland tradition never sat well with her. “Honestly, Bernadetta, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long. Someone with your intelligence should know that the outdoors is completely harmless. It’s healthy for you.”

“Healthy and lovely,” Marianne agreed with a little smile. Her old friends from her academy days four years past were eccentric as ever, and she was grateful for them. “Doesn’t the breeze feel nice, Bernie? It’s so gentle. Almost like a kiss.”

“K-Kiss?” stuttered Bernadetta. “I don’t know anything about kisses! Nope! Nothing at all.”

“Now _that’s_ a lie,” Lysithea countered, lifting her head from her reading. “I know you’re close with Duke Fraldarius, Bernie. If your wedding wasn’t next month, we’d all think you were already married.”

Bernadetta blushed such a raging shade of red that it only embarrassed her further. She leaned over to Marianne and buried her face in her shoulder, to hide. Marianne didn’t have the spirit to tease her. Anxiety and paranoia came all too easy to Bernadetta, so Marianne felt no need to encourage them. “There there, Bernie. It’s good that you and Felix are in love. You’re very lucky.”

“I guess it’s not so bad when you put it like that.” Bernie sat upright once more, letting out a huff. “Mostly I’m just a bother to him. I’m the most annoying person I know.”

“If you ask me,” said Lysithea, “he’s not the most tolerable himself. But he’s not cruel and he means well, which I suppose gives him a pass.” She shrugged. “Lorenz is insufferable, but I enjoy the way he dotes on me, even if it is exhausting. He doesn’t stand in the way of my education either, which is good if he plans on keeping me.”

Marianne nodded. Lysithea, ever ambitious, was studying hard to become the first female scientist to attend and graduate from the university in Derdriu. Both of Marianne’s friends had such unique talents — Lysithea with her science and Bernadetta with novel writing — and while Marianne supported them with her whole heart, their successes shed a light on her own failures. What did Marianne have that other women did not? In her mind, she was entirely unremarkable. Forgettable.

“What about you, Marianne?” asked Bernadetta with curiosity. “Married to the Prime Minister. Sounds tiring. I’m grateful that Felix lives in Faerghus. So much snow... I’ll barely have to go outside at all!”

Marianne hummed. She didn’t want to talk about Ferdinand, so she stayed quiet, adding another flower to her crown.

“Oh, just forget Ferdinand and Felix already.” Lysithea, suddenly more interested in the conversation, snapped shut her book on molecular history and looked Marianne in the eye. “Why don't you tell us about Duke Blaiddyd?”

Bernadetta gasped. Marianne straightened her back, glancing between her two friends as though they’d transformed into squirrels. “Um... who?”

“Come on,” chided Lysithea. “I saw you two dancing at the Saint Macuil ball. I also heard that you spent a great deal of time with him out in the woods not too long ago.”

Heat rose in Marianne’s face. She returned to her craft, busying herself so she might avoid eye contact, though her manner became frantic. “That — that sounds like gossip to me.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Lysithea pulled her pale hair over her shoulder and stacked her books atop one another. “Better be careful. I’ve heard he’s mad.”

“Mad?” spat Marianne. “Not at all.”

“He was nice the one time I met him,” Bernie added, “but Felix mentioned it too. Something’s different in his head. Something... haunted.”

Marianne frowned. Dimitri bore a haunted mind? Was it like hers, she wondered? “I don’t know how anyone could say such a thing. Dimitri is kind and gentle. He’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met, Bernadetta. He’s so full of life and he appreciates everything around him.”

“Oh! Uh, well...?” Lysithea’s tone held a new urgency as she perked up. “If you fancy Duke Blaiddyd that much, you should tell him. Now’s your chance.”

“How so?”

“He’s coming this way.”

Marianne's eyes caught the meadow’s edge where it bordered the road. In a twist of fate, Dimitri walked toward them, dressed in a suit the color of ink with a white chemise underneath, and a gentleman’s hat atop his golden head. In his right hand was a silver cane. He waved to the three of them.

Bernadetta yelped in surprise as Lysithea gathered her books. Marianne’s racing heart leapt to her throat and stuck there. 

“Good afternoon,” said Dimitri as he approached. Marianne relished in his voice, deep but soft. “I didn’t expect to find all of you here.”

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Lysithea replied. Bernadetta was too shy and Marianne too stunned for words. “We’re sorry to intrude. Bernadetta and I were just leaving.”

“What?” barked Marianne. Before she could question them, Bernadetta and Lysithea had risen to their feet. They bowed to Dimitri and scrambled off toward the road leading into town, linking arms. Marianne swore she could hear them giggling. 

The wind tousled Dimitri’s hair as he removed his hat. Marianne looked up at him with wide eyes, her blood pumping all the way to her ears, and he smiled at her, sheepishly rubbing the side of his neck.

They were alone.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri said after a time. “I didn’t mean for your friends to leave.”

“N-No, it’s alright. They, um...” Marianne felt a familiar flutter in her ribcage at the sight of him. The sting of her friends’ betrayal melted into gratitude for their welcomed exit; time alone with Dimitri was precious rare, and she’d missed him these past weeks. “They had somewhere to be.”

“Ah,” said Dimtri. “I suppose their timing is... fortuitous.” He motioned to the now empty space beside her. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” Marianne moved Bernadetta’s unfinished garland aside and continued work on her flower crown, now nearing completion. Dimitri sat on the blanket to her right, so close that their shoulders almost touched.

“Apologies,” he said with a nervous lilt in his tone. “I would sit on your left side, but with my missing eye, it would be harder for me to see you.”

Marianne met his gaze. Dimitri was so handsome up close, his jaw strong, cheekbones high. The bridge of his nose bore a bump from being broken in the past, but it was flattering, and his lips were a soft shade of pink. Marianne was beginning to believe that he had not a single unattractive feature. She returned his smile as he regarded her in a similar fashion. Adoration for her shone in his eye, and she blushed.

Dimitri placed his hat beside him. Marianne returned to her work, plucking a white rose and a bit of ivy from the pile to her right and aligning it with the exposed wire of the crown. The midday sun beat down upon them, bringing more heat than what she already felt in his presence. “What brought you here, Dimitri?” she asked. “I thought you would be in Faerghus.”

“I was,” he said. “I came to visit an old friend, but my carriage hit a rock, and the wheel snapped.” Dimitri motioned to the road ahead of them. A broken coach sat haphazard at the side of the dirt path, the drivers conversing with one another while awaiting a replacement. “I saw the three of you from across the meadow and thought I might say hello.”

“And chase off my friends?” she teased, looking over at him. “That wasn’t very kind of you.”

“Well, it can’t be helped. I saw you and simply _rose_ to the occasion.”

They laughed together. Oh, how she had missed the sound of his laughter, its bewitching bass having plagued her for a full moon. So strange to think it, but his awful sense of humor charmed her beyond reason.

“Did your niece like the orange cosmos?” asked Marianne.

“Yes, very much. I believe she pressed them in a storybook once they began to wilt.”

“That’s sweet of her.” Marianne twined a piece of ivy along the crown’s wire, hoping he couldn’t see how impossible it was for her to stop smiling. “I didn’t know you and the queen had another sibling.”

“We don’t. Or rather, she doesn’t.” Dimitri brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “My closest friend is a man named Dedue. He isn’t my brother by blood, but by choice. He is as dear to me as Edelgard. He and his wife, Mercedes, live at Castle Blaiddyd with me. It is their children who are my nieces and nephew.”

“Oh, that's wonderful,” said Marianne. “It must be nice to have so many people live closeby who care for you.”

“It is. Mercedes is carrying their fourth child, now. She is my dear friend as well, and my doctor.”

Marianne glanced at him. “Your doctor?” 

Dimitri paled. Marianne watched him stare off into the distance at something unknown. He looked troubled, terrified even, his blue eye unblinking as he fixated on whatever it was he saw. Marianne nearly asked if he was alright, but Dimitri cleared his throat and turned back to her. “Uh, _a_ doctor. Not _my_ doctor.” He waved his hand to dismiss the thought. “She’s very good at what she does, though people underestimate her because of her sex.”

“I see,” Marianne replied. There was more to the role of this mysterious Mercedes, and to Dimitri himself, but she did not pry. “Mercedes sounds like a lovely person.”

“She is most exceptional, I agree.” Dimitri managed a little grin. “I seem to be surrounded by a number of exceptional women, lately.”

Dimitri met her eyes. His implication was obvious. Marianne bit back a smile and returned to her work, nearly done.

“Who is the lucky recipient of this beautiful flower crown?” Dimitri asked. “A friend? Or—”

“A lover?” finished Marianne without thinking. They met eyes again, and she watched Dimitri’s cheeks flush as much as hers. “Um... I only meant to say that I have no lover. Not yet, at least.”

Dimitri studied her, and the ache that shone in him was all too apparent. She recognized it immediately — it was an ache she’d felt herself many times before. “A friend, then.”

Marianne nodded. She finished the final round of roses and wrapped them about the crown’s wire, setting it with adhesive, trailing her fingers along the petals with a frown. Tradition dictated that the crown belonged to Ferdinand. As her betrothed, he’d been declared before the Goddess as her husband-to-be. No act of cruelty, no abuse or adultery or earthly act of ill will could break such a sacred bond. Marianne knew this. She’d been raised in the church and had absorbed its teachings with eagerness from the day of her birth.

Even so, Marianne lifted the crown and placed it gently atop Dimitri’s head. “For you.”

Dimitri’s eye grew wide. He looked at her with such hesitation, such sadness, that she began to believe she’d made a mistake. Marianne would have apologized if not for the clear sound of hope in his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she promised. “If not you, then no one.”

Dimitri’s growing smile became warmer than the sun, bright enough to cast away both their inner shadows. “I do not take this honor lightly.”

“It wasn’t given lightly.”

What had possessed her to act so blatant and forward? It was wrong of Marianne to be flirtatious. Scripture spoke of sin being committed in the mind long before it was ever made flesh, and Marianne had already fallen. She wanted to know what it would feel like to be held in the strength of Dimitri’s arms, to taste his lips upon hers and hear words of love, for surely he had them. The look in his eye spoke of those same desires as if they were his, too.

“You look like a king,” she said with a soft giggle.

“Because of you, I feel like one,” Dimitri replied. “Nevertheless, I would be no king without a partner beside me.” He took her delicate hand between his of roughness and labor, and pressed his tender lips to her knuckles, never breaking gaze. “A queen, in your case.”

As the two of them sat side by side in the meadow, mere playthings for the peaceful breeze, Marianne wondered if the Goddess would truly disdain her for straying. With such pure fondness budding between herself and Dimitri, how could anything holy or righteous deny them?

That evening, Marianne floated back to her father’s manor on the wings of her open heart. She flew up to her bedroom and touched ground atop her deskside chair, and she pulled her fountain pen from her drawer, parting her journal to the nearest empty page.

> _Diary,_
> 
> _I am lost in the sweetest way. I saw him again, and it was wonderful. Dimitri’s goodness knows no bounds. I don’t care what they say about him. Talks of his madness are only vicious rumors I’m sure, and even if they’re not, I will adore him anyway, for no broken mind deserves to be unloved solely because it is broken._
> 
> _I wish my mother and father were alive. I wish I could ask if this was how they felt. I understand now why my father abandoned his noble title to marry my mother, and why I was conceived out of wedlock. The feelings of affection that course through me are so consuming that they’re impossible to ignore. My parents must have felt the same and nurtured these sentiments until they burst into passion._
> 
> _The church tells me I should scorn my parents for their lust, and my adoptive father says I'm lucky that he took me under his wing. I once believed him. Now, I am beginning to miss the commoner’s life I was robbed of. How liberating it would have been to follow my heart wherever it led me._
> 
> _I dread the day when I must tell Dimitri of my betrothal. Will he resent me for my careless flirtation? My selfishness? Will he rightfully reject me as he should, or will he not react at all, leaving me cold and never knowing the truth of his heart?_
> 
> _Mother, father, please help me. I can’t navigate these days by myself. I am already so alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "no broken mind deserves to be unloved solely because it is broken" is a line that really hits me :(  
> GOD i fucking love dimimari y'all like i got no constructive thing to say. i just love them. and edelclaude tension???? HOO that scene was rough to write, and poor bisexual ferdie... tbh the only reason why i didn't do ferdibert for this fic is because i'm not nearly confident enough to write hubert so in depth. that's the ONLY reason. even writing him in this scene felt intimidating! but dorothea fits wonderfully anyway, and she's a star. we love to see it.  
> next chapter has even MORE angst... things are gonna start ampin' up!!! see you in two weeks! comments and kudos are welcome; if you'd like to spare a moment, let us know how we've done so far. <3


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